


Don't Let It Go To Your Head

by purrpickle



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Collaboration with Foxchaos, F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pezberry, This is legitimately a Pezberry rom-com, We legitimately wrote a Pezberry rom-com
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:37:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 91,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4768682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purrpickle/pseuds/purrpickle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detentions, forced interaction, and unusual levels of sexual tension are what rom-coms are made of. And, apparently, Rachel Berry’s latest high school romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration with Foxchaos. Originally meant to be a simple "take a break from the emotional heaviness of Effing Perfect (a fic I'll upload here some day)" fic, we have been working on this for the past eleven months. Because of that, we already have a lot written; however, the uploading of chapters will be staggered, and not posted at once. Doing so will give us more time to work on the currently 17 page long 23rd chapter and beyond. *grins*
> 
> The title is a reference to a song with the same name by Jordin Sparks. We don't own it.
> 
> Shout out to whydontyouscreamalittle-louder on tumblr for being willing to look over this for us so I could FINALLY go ahead and post it.
> 
> Without further ado, on with the show~

Rachel noticed her well before she'd crossed the threshold leading into the normally deserted band room. Smaller, abandoned after the glee club absorbed the jazz band into its own, Rachel had only stepped foot into the classroom once - when she had watched Mr. Ryerson start down the dark path of fondling high school boys. The reason she was once again stepping into the room this time was, in her mind, almost more distasteful.

She had detention.

Detention she'd been serving for the past two days already. Detention that, even though she'd had those two days to gather up the strength needed to prepare herself, caused her to still feel surprised to see Santana whenever she turned the corner in the hall. Santana just didn't…  _fit_ in the sparseness of the room.

Just like, Rachel had to stamp her foot down in her own head, not wanting Santana to catch her doing it again,  _she_ didn't belong in that room either.

Santana was leaning back in a random back row chair, legs crossed with her head falling off the back to stare aimlessly up at the ceiling. There was a Lima Bean coffee cup on the desk attached to her chair, sunglasses set down next to them, and what looked like some kind of designer bag slung on the chair peeked out from behind her legs. As always, the girl was wearing obscenely tight jeans and uggs, the weather just barely turning cold enough to cover her legs, but this time, instead of a shirt and warm vest of some kind, Santana was wearing a long-sleeved buttoned up  _almost_ plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up close to her elbows.

It wasn't anything fancy (if fancier than Rachel's outfit), but at least it was better than the Cheerio outfit Rachel had expected to see once she'd gotten over the outrage of knowing Santana was joining her. She'd even asked about it.

"Yeah, like," Santana had rolled her eyes, glaring at Rachel like she was stupid, "Coach Sue would just  _love_ someone advertising that her cheerleaders aren't  _perfect angels_. Me caught dead in detention in uniform? She'd be the one who'd murdered me."

Rachel rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and reminding herself that huffing would just get her taunted more. "So what did you do  _this time_?" she asked, idly looking around and trying to remember what they were even supposed to be doing- some sort of cleaning, she was sure. Which was stupid because the room wasn't used enough anymore to need anything beyond a quick dusting.

The Cheerio slowly rolled her neck so that she was looking at Rachel, her perfectly shaped (fake, Rachel thought) eyebrow arching in that same way that never ceased to irritate the singer.

"Maybe the words 'not your business' really don't mean anything to you considering it's the… third time you've asked since Figgins decided to try and win authority points by putting me in the same room as you and expecting me not to bathe in your virginal blood and tears, but I'll repeat it, since I hear hobbits are sorta slow on the uptake;  **Not. Your. Business.** "

Annoyed, and now somewhat terrified at the idea of Santana actually goring her enough to bathe in her blood, Rachel took a small step back. Before she could reply, though, Santana spoke again, "I, however, know  _exactly_ why you're here."

"You don't," insisted Rachel, once again trying not to stomp her foot.

The slow, almost predatory smirk on Santana's lips made the singer's heart jump- no, twist. It wasn't jumping. It was a painful, terrified twist. Jumping was for pleasant things, and nothing Santana made her feel was ever pleasant.

"Berrylicious got caught in Shue's office.  _Wanky_. I mean, I knew you had a thing for him sophomore year, but going through his personal belongings? Stalker much?"

This time, Rachel couldn't help it, she stomped her foot as she bristled. "For your information I was- Mr. Schuester was, is, making a terrible mistake by not allowing me a certain level of power over the setlist for Sectionals and I had to at least make sure there wasn't any Journey or, heavens forbid,  _disco_ , this time!"

"Not a fan of the decade of white suits and hairy pornstars, hmm?" Sitting up, Santana lay her right arm onto the desk, resting her chin on her palm.

"Since I have no standing to deride the Seventies as a decade as a whole, as I've had no personal experience to come up with an unbiased opinion, I am purely talking about the quality of the music." Rachel wanted to squeeze the bridge of her nose, but refrained because she knew a nose crack would quickly be lobbed her way; she dropped her backpack onto the desk two away from Santana instead, letting the noise accompany her words. "Quality, which aside from specific singer-songwriters and admittedly classic melodies, is sorely lacking and only a detriment to our hopes of winning a show we  _need_ to not grow complacent about!"

The ticking of the clock was an insulting accompaniment to the expression on Santana's face as Rachel glared at her. While Rachel was breathing heavily with intensity, Santana merely stared back at her.

"Wow." Straightening, Santana shook her head, then leaned back again so she could look at Rachel from underneath her eyelashes, "...You are  _so_ boring it's painful.

"And using all those words when you could just  _not_ look like a total  _midget nerd_ , it's like you're allergic to coolness." She threw up her hand, waving it in the air; laughing offensively before standing up from the chair, turning away to pull her bag up onto the seat, the cheerleader sounded like she was muttering to herself as she unzipped it and started digging inside. "Ahah! Here." Santana swung on her heel, "If I throw this pack of gum at you, would you take it and shut up?"

"I am not so easily bribed, and I am insulted that you believe that sugary excuse for dental hygiene would 'shut me up'. Frankly, Santana, I think you could learn a lot by listening to me. I have a wealth of musical and theatrical history. And maybe if you and the others took three seconds to listen to my highly trained and exquisite advice you wouldn't continue flattening your Cs."

And just like that Santana was away from the desk and in Rachel's face, glaring down the three inches she had on the girl. "You did not just say my singing was flat," the Cheerio growled, eyes narrowed. "You wanna go, Berry? You wanna take this to the floor? Because I'mma go  _all_ Lima Heights on your tiny Pinocchio ass!" Santana lunged and Rachel shrieked, ducking out of the way and around a row of desks.

"I  _will_  report this, Santana Lopez! Eep- And if you get suspended for violence, Sylvester will definitely cut you down on the pyramid!"

That stopped the Latina, though she only looked angrier, and Rachel let out a small, relieved sigh. It was short lived, though, because suddenly Rachel found herself being grabbed by the front of her cardigan, dragged to the nearest wall, and pressed up against it. And, to her horror, the first thing she felt was  _not_ unholy terror. What she felt was Santana's chest against her own, hips keeping hers in place, and the taller girl's hot breath on her neck as she spoke directly against her ear, tone low and menacing,

"Lucky for you, Berrybite, I like these boots, and don't want rancid Hobbit blood stains on them. You bitch about my voice again, though, and slushies will be the most pleasant stain you've _ever_  had on your toddler clothes to date."

Rachel swallowed audibly, intending on just nodding her head, only to be betrayed by her tongue. "There's nothing wrong with constructive criticism- NOT THE NOSE NOT THE NOSE!"

Just as Santana's fist raised, the door opened, and with a harsh, relieved groan, Santana backed off and went to her things. Stuffing them into her arms, she glared at Rachel as she strode past her, barely acknowledging the science teacher who popped in and out to tell them they were free to go, early as it was.

Alone again, it took Rachel much longer than she was comfortable with to stop shivering, warmth slowly trickling out from where it had been centered in her chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Figgins walked in the room with a cheerful, pleased smile on his face, oblivious to Rachel's paleness at the death glare Santana was giving her, still upset, seemingly, from the previous day. The glare did nothing to get Rachel's… dream from the night before out of her head, but at least she and Santana weren't the only ones in the room; a couple of other kids had managed to get themselves detention in what was probably supposed to be a seamless, no-problem choreographed pranking of the sprinkler system. Unfortunately, the only good thing about the resulting shower was that it had helped wash slushy out of her hair.

"Hello young inquisitive minds!" Figgins announced, clasping his hands in front of himself. He waited, but only Rachel gave him a polite, "Hello." Nodding as if everyone had responded, the principal raised his eyebrows. "Though not all of you students were involved in the flagrant disregard of school property and  _incurring_ plumbing bills we're  _still_ racking up, you are all here, ready and eager to help  _recoup those losses_."

"Oh god." Santana groaned under her breath.

Rachel stared at Figgins, not wanting to hear what he was going to say next. She hoped the valid excuse of not risking her voice would keep the dirtiest task from being hers.

More rumbles sounded around the room. "This is whack!" a male voice called out.

"No, what is 'whack'," Figgins' smile disappeared, "Is how much money we do  _not_ have to deal with this…  _Catastrophe_! So." He stared at each person in turn, "Go and put on your gym clothes."

"What?" Rachel and Santana said at the same time, Santana glaring at Rachel to back down when they looked at each other, then repeated the question, "What? If you think you're going to ogle my bits by making us do some kind of ridiculous pervy excuse of an extra workout session, you - "

Figgins paled, waving his hands violently in the air. "No. No sexual harassment is happening on these grounds. Only physical exertion. You have ten minutes to change and get back here. Coach Beiste will be there to make sure you follow these instructions."

* * *

In the locker room, Rachel grabbed her clothes and headed towards the bathroom stalls, only to be stopped by Santana's voice.

"Thank fuck. Last thing I need today is seeing you in your granny panties."

Rachel turned on her heel, hands on her hips as she glared. "For your information, Santana, my underwear choices are perfectly reasonable for my age group."

A smirk, and then, "So Target's three for one bin?"

"Still better than your crotchless excuses for a g-string."

"Oooh, someone's been paying a little extra attention. Better watch it, Gayberry. If my panties go missing I'll know exactly who to hunt down."

"Santana!"

"Berry!" Santana parroted, smirk growing, "That's not a denial."

Drawing herself up straight, Rachel puffed out her chest. "Santana, why would I  _ever_ want to steal, or - or  _touch_ your underwear? Or better yet, I can't think of  _any_ reason why I would ever want to  _wear_ your underwear, either, as I'm assuming that's what you're so crassly suggesting."

"Tchh." Tossing her hair, Santana laughed. "As if you'd ever let  _anything_ remotely sexy touch your tiny, curveless, and unappetizing hobbit body. Hell, I'd be surprised if you could even  _think_ sexy, let alone  _be_ it.

"Actually, no, wait." Santana mimicked Rachel again, putting her hands on her hips and shrugging exaggeratedly, "Even getting that far would be impossible; you're so helplessly unsexy that I can't think or say the words 'sexy' and 'Rachel Berry'  _anywhere_ near each other."

Rachel bit her lip, swallowing hard and taking a slow breath. Just words, she told herself. Silly, obnoxious words fueled by a vindictive and bitter girl holding a grudge from the day before, nothing else. Squaring her shoulders, she turned away, continuing to the bathroom stall, intent on not giving into Santana's baiting. She would just change, do the mopping, and be done so that she could get away from the resident  _Satan_ and focus on her vocal practices.

Rolling her eyes, miffed that Rachel hadn't lashed out like she had wanted, Santana went to her own locker and grabbed her gym clothes. Shameless, she stripped to her bra and underwear, putting on her shorts and grabbing her Cheerios t-shirt. When she turned around at the sound of the bathroom stall door unlocking, she mentally smacked herself at how her eyes immediately went to Rachel's stupidly long legs.

 _God you're fucking gay_ , she thought in annoyance. "So you  _do_ know what a razor is," Santana sniped, refusing to dwell on her thoughts any longer. "And look, it even looks like you actually know how to use one. Bravo, blueberry."

"I would think," Rachel stiffly responded, immediately mentally slapping herself for giving in, "That you would already be aware, seeing as I often wear dresses and skirts."

 _Skirts are fucking_ _ **different**_ , Santana managed to keep blessedly to herself. Outwardly, she shrugged again, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched Rachel neurotically make sure her locker was clean after sliding her clothes back in. "Like I look at you."

Rachel chewed on the inside of her cheek.  _You've done more than that_ , her mind supplied, thoughts of her dream flashing through again. Unbidden, she let out a soft puff of air.

Five minutes later, they found themselves in the gym, mops in hand and working up a sweat. Or at least Rachel was, not used to that much arm exercise. As she glanced over to Santana, she was annoyed to see that, while a bit flushed over her tanned skin, the cheerleader just looked  _bored_  as opposed to tired. And just when Rachel thought that maybe she'd escape this detention session without Santana insulting her anymore, "Missed a spot, midget."

Rachel looked up just in time to see Santana sweep the water near her to Rachel's feet instead, smirking. Rachel glared, angrily swiping up the water. When she turned her back to squeeze it into the bucket, she felt wetness at her heels, and more water at her feet. Again, she cleaned it up, and moments later, again, more water. Finally, "Santana Lopez, I insist that you cease this childish behavior and do your fair share of the work! Otherwise I will be forced to inform Coach Beiste of your errant attitude!"

Santana made a face at her. "God, do you  _ever_ not immediately run to the peeps in charge? You're so lame."

Her grip tightening on the mop, Rachel squeezed until it creaked. "Then why," she half grunted, half lilted lowly, "Do you talk to me if I'm so lame?"

"Because while you're incredibly lame, the mouth-breathers and zit factories around us are lamer. And maybe if I make you shriek enough, you'll lose your voice in time for Sectionals."

With a sudden, distraught gasp, Rachel's hand flew to her throat, eyes wide with horror. Santana's laughter echoed through the empty gym, and the smaller girl flushed with embarrassment realizing she'd fallen right into Santana's hands for the second time that day.

* * *

"You're doing it wrong."

"Shut it, Berry."

" _Santana_. You're doing it wrong. If you just did it  _this_ way, it would go faster - "

"Five fucking seconds, maybe!" Santana snapped, pushing Rachel's outstretched hand away with a shove of her shoulder. Crouched over the bucket, twisting and fiddling and pulling at the connection between the mop and its handle, she growled when Rachel's hand intruded into her frame of sight again. "God, if you'd just let me replace this damn mop head by myself - your voice is so  _annoying_!"

Avoiding getting whacked by Santana's mop, something her shins didn't want to experience again, Rachel huffed, dropping to her knees after Santana slapped her hand away again. "If you just twist  _then_ pull, or let  _me_ do it, then you wouldn't have to listen to my voice telling you how to do it."

"Small favors." Muttering, Santana twisted away, "Just - god dammit,  _treasure trail_ , leave me alone -  _ **fuck**_!"

Jumping at the pain filled exclamation, Rachel barely registered the dark red spots slipping down into the dirty water before realizing Santana's left palm was bleeding sluggishly from an angry looking, jagged scrape.

"Oh my gosh!" Rachel gasped, suddenly holding Santana's hand carefully. "Oh goodness. Stay right here, I'll get the first aid from the locker room."

Before Santana could get a word in, Rachel was gone, and she rolled her eyes. "Fuckin' Berry…" It figured that Santana could spend all afternoon making the girl see red and she still was up and ready to bandage a damn scrape without a thought. "Way too much of a goody goody…" Santana mumbled, more to convince herself that it was only annoyance that she felt at that whole thing.

Moments later, Rachel was back, first aid kit in hand. Santana grabbed for it, and Rachel moved away. "Absolutely not. You'll get blood on it, which is highly unsanitary. Here, press this to your palm to stop the bleeding and clean it," she said, handing Santana a damp bunch of paper towels.

"I know how to manage injuries, Frodo. I'm on the Cheerios. We had a two week survival seminar in the Appalachian Mountains freshmen year."

Rachel stared, then shook her head and refocused. "Yes, well. Be that as it may, there's nothing wrong with having someone help you." And then she had Santana's slightly larger hand in her own, dabbing at it gently with an alcohol pad.

Santana grimaced, but otherwise didn't react, nor did she say a word, not trusting herself to speak. And she was definitely  _not appreciative_ either.

It was over in just a under a minute, her palm wrapped to hold the band-aid and Rachel carefully putting the kit back together and gathering up the paper towels to throw away. When Rachel returned, she finally seemed to realize what had just occurred and awkwardly cleared her throat. "Well then… Back to work." And just like that she picked up her mop and went back to it, face red and thoughts running a million miles a minute.

Santana stayed crouched there for several seconds, then huffed, finally undoing the mop head. Replacing it, she began to clean up again. Just for good measure, though, she spent the next ten minutes making sure to mop as much of the dirty water over anywhere that Rachel cleaned, scowling but not saying a word when the girl reprimanded her.


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday morning, when Rachel should have been eating breakfast with her fathers and planning out her week down to the most minute detail, was instead being spent, again, with Santana Lopez. This time cleaning out the Cheerios trophy cases. For something that was _not_ her fault and yet _she_ had been given the blame.

Her teammates were traitors.

“Remember to make ‘em shine, Berrybop,” came the voice of Santana, who, instead of helping, was lounging back on a chair reading a magazine and drinking a grape slushy.

Rachel turned, glaring at the girl.  “I do believe _you_ are supposed to be assisting, _Santana._ ”

Santana just smirked, snorting in amusement. “Um, no. I am here to keep an eye on _you_ , per request of Coach. Which is fucking stupid because I have soooo many better things I could be doing than babysitting the resident kindergartner. Not even getting paid for this shit.” At least, Santana thought, the view wasn’t too bad. Rachel in those ungodly short skirts having to bend over? Not an eyesore, even if she wasn’t going to admit that, ever.

“This is appalling. And frankly, I’m surprised Ms. Sylvester would let anyone but herself touch her precious cheerleading trophies.”

Santana raised her slushy cup. “Again, that’s why I’m here. Don’t need your loser germs infecting anything. Or your little hobbity hands trying to steal them for yourself.”

“I _would never-_ ”

“-possibly be able to imagine winning trophies larger than you? I know. Try to pay attention when I say that’s why I’m here for security. Back to work sunshine. Two hours and three cases to go.”

Reaching for the next trophy, Rachel stopped herself. No. Spinning, glaring at Santana, she struggled to her feet, having to steady herself against the glass door of the case she’d just, great, cleaned. “You,” she pointed at Santana, building up righteous ire, “Are going to help me!”

The air through Santana’s straw stuttered as the cheerleader sucked at it, lips pursed and dyed a light purple. It was grape, Rachel’s favorite, and the girl just made it worse when her tongue darted out to wet her lips after putting the cup down. “Not gonna happen.”

“Yes. It is.”

“Nope.” Santana shook her head, looking unconcerned. “Not in my job description.”

“I thought you weren’t getting _paid_ for the job you _don’t_ have.”

“So?”

Why did Santana insist on being so _frustrating_? She just… She _just_ …!

Rachel stomped up to Santana, looking down at her with her hands clenched into tight little fists resting on her hips. “If you don’t help me, there will be consequences, Santana Lopez,” the singer ground out.

Santana’s eyebrow arched, and without a word she set her magazine aside, standing to full height and pressing forward against Rachel to take the most advantage of their height difference as possible.

To Rachel’s credit, she didn’t outwardly flinch, even when the cheerleader crossed her arms and set her jaw in that way almost always meant terrible, terrible things were about to occur.

“I’m sorry, I thought two really, really weird things just came out of that yapper of yours,” drawled Santana, her voice on the edge of threatening.

Rachel forced herself not to swallow the sudden lump in her throat, holding onto her indignant outrage tightly.

“One,” Santana stepped forward, forcing Rachel to step back lest they be chest to chest. “A _threat_.” Santana stepped forward again; Rachel took another step back. “And two: an **_order_**.” Almost lazily, Santana pressed a finger against Rachel’s chest, walking her backwards until the girl hit the glass case. “But there’s _no way_ I heard correctly. Right, Sailor Twinkle?”

Stubbornly, Rachel continued to glare up at Santana, even if she was suddenly very aware of their bodies pressing together and Santana’s not-unpleasant-at-all perfume heady against her senses. “That is exactly what you heard,” she ground out, surprising even herself with the lack of stutter and what sounded like confidence.

Santana’s expression held something akin to shock for only a second, and then morphed dangerously, her scowl becoming a smirk and eyes seeming to actually light up.

This time Rachel did swallow - audibly - and drew in a sharp breath despite herself. A hand was on her neck, merely pressing against the side, with hot fingers trailing slowly down the line of her pulse. Leaning in, Santana left not a single inch of space between them, and whispered - no, _husked_ , “And what, little Gayberry, are you going to _do to me_? Hm?”

Rachel breathed in sharply, a gasp really, and-- when exactly had she been holding her breath? “I-I can imagine that Principal Figgins or Coach Beiste would not look… Kindly upon hearing that you were shirking your detention. Bu- _uht_!” she inhaled harshly through her nose as Santana’s fingers nudged the underside of her jaw, Santana’s breath exhaling against her lips, “We’ve already covered that you won’t listen to authority.”

“So…?” Santana’s eyes moved up Rachel’s face, then back down, seeming to follow the dragging of her fingers up and down along her neck.

“So…” Rachel’s tongue slipped out to wet her lips, and Santana’s gaze snapped back up, her hand reactively pushing heavier against her throat. If she’d had the sense of mind to realize just how much danger to her voice she could have possibly actually been in, Rachel would have jerked her knee up, or elbowed Santana. Instead, an embarrassing whimper escaped her mouth. “So,” she coughed, fingernails digging into her palms, hands tensed at her hips, gasping deeply when Santana pulled back - only _then_ realizing the position she’d been in, “I’d ha-have to appeal to your more…”

Santana’s hand moved down to press against her sternum; Rachel wondered if she could feel how hard her heart was pounding through her pulse.

Dark eyes stared at her.

“Obvious aversions.”

Santana chuckled, finally drawing away from Rachel and turning her back to the girl. She strode to her chair, picked up her now mostly empty slushy cup, and glanced back to the glee captain. “Well, when you figure out an appropriate _punishment_ for my naughty side, lemme know. Better get back to work though, cupcake. Those trophies won’t clean themselves.” And then she was turning on her heel, walking down the hall, hips swaying with a little more purpose, a little more cockiness than usual.

It took Rachel several seconds to realize what was happening. She blinked, then sputtered, before yelling out, “S-Santana Lopez!  Get back here! Santana! You--! Oh--” With a stomp of her foot and face screwing up into righteous indignation, Rachel angrily turned back to the trophy case. _She_ , at least, _was not_ going to get in more trouble by not getting something done.

Down the hall and around the corner, Santana leaned against a row of lockers, taking a few slow breaths. Her heartbeat was abnormally fast, and there was a pleasant warmth in the pit of her stomach. Amusement, she told herself. It was nothing more or less than unbridled amusement at seeing Rachel so completely at a loss for coherency. And… well...

She licked her lips, her smirk returning after a moment.

She was definitely going to have to… experiment a little more. If she was going to keep getting stuck with the little gleek, as the universe seemed to insist upon, at the very least she could have her fun.


	4. Chapter 4

Trudging into detention the following Tuesday, Rachel didn’t know what to expect. Santana hadn’t come back after walking away, even if Rachel had been able to hear her voice echoing through the halls as if she’d been conscripted to other parts of the school. And then, on Monday, for some reason, the girl had been conspicuously absent or busy during the classes they had together. During glee, even, the girl had been wrapped up in her Cheerio jacket and pants, gazing at the whiteboard when not lobbing insults at Rory or Sugar. Sitting to her left and a row forward, in between Quinn and Sam, Rachel had watched her out of the corner of her eye.

She’d… Well. She’d expected some kind of slushy attack that day. Or some sort of cutting remark hissed at her as one-third of the Unholy Trinity marched past her in the halls.

But… It hadn’t happened.

Rachel found herself very concerned.

Keeping her head up, hands wrapped around the straps of her backpack (having decided using the wheels while the school was still fairly dirty due to the impromptu sprinkler deluge was an ill-thought idea), Rachel’s heart stuttered when she realized Santana wasn’t in the room.

That didn’t make sense. Santana was always there first, dashing to the locker room to change into her civilian clothes after glee whilst Rachel stayed behind to cajole and debate - _not beg_ \- Mr. Schuester to change their tentative setlist.

She stared at the bare room, only moving when a nondescript boy from one of her classes shouldered by her, pushing her out of the doorway.

Santana wasn’t there?

She walked into the room almost cautiously, sitting herself down at the nearest desk but unable to really comprehend what was happening. A part of her said that she should be relieved.

No insults, no rude nicknames, no threats or… whatever it was that had happened the other day. Just her and her homework for the next hour and a half. Time would fly and she’d be home and happy.

But there was a twist in the girl’s stomach, and she realized that she felt… not lonely, that was absurd, but… alone?

With a sigh, glancing at the clock and realizing that already ten minutes had passed, she finally took out her Chemistry book. Just as she was opening up to the assignment page, though,

“Mami, I said _no_. Just-- Look, I-- I _can’t_. She… She doesn’t want me there, trust me.”

Rachel’s head shot up, and she stretched across her desk, managing to catch sight of Santana’s Cheerios jacket just outside the door frame. There was silence for a couple of minutes again, then,

“ _Mami_ , **_please_**.”

And this time Rachel was absolutely sure that she had just heard Santana’s voice crack. The sound made her heart clench, and the singer quickly realized she probably wasn’t supposed to be hearing the conversation at all.

There was something that sounded _distinctly_ like a sniffle, or maybe even a muffled, swallowed down sob, followed by Santana speaking roughly in Spanish. All Rachel managed to catch was ‘I love you’ and ‘Goodbye’, and quickly she hurried to look like she was completely transfixed by her homework.

Not a minute later Santana walked in, moving past Rachel without a single word and sitting down heavily in a seat behind her.

Rachel swore she could feel eyes burning into her back, but she hesitated to speak, couldn’t even get her pencil to move on the notebook she had opened up to begin the assignment.

“Stop pretending you weren’t being a fucking nosy-ass nerd,” Santana said sharply, but her voice seemed… weaker. The suddenness still made Rachel jump, though, and the smaller girl cleared her throat.

“I-- I apologize-- I didn’t--” She took a breath, biting her lip. “Um… Do you…”

“ _No._ ”

Rachel whipped back around from where she was half-turned towards the other girl to stare down at her notebook. Minutes passed again, and she slowly slid back around. “I, while I didn’t mean to l-listen in…” Out of the corner of her eye, Santana clenched her jaw, and Rachel hurried to finish before those reddened eyes glared fully at her, “You sure you don’t want to talk about - ”

Strong fingers wrapped around a third of Rachel’s hair, pulling sharply.

Rachel slapped her hands against her scalp, trying to guard against further attacks. “ _Ow_!”

“Shut. Up.” Giving a warning tug, Santana dropped her hand, sitting up enough to lean toward Rachel, arms braced on the desk, “And make like your freaky cousins, the Fraggles. Keep. To. _Yourself_. _No one_ wants anything to do with you, freaky puffy-nippled giants aside. Learn to deal with it.”

Massaging her scalp, glaring at Santana, Rachel planted her feet on the ground, scooting her chair and desk forward. Ignoring the looks she was getting, and happy that the detention teacher wasn’t in sight, she stopped only when she figured Santana couldn’t reach her. “Far be it for me,” she sniffed, pitching her voice loud enough that Santana could still hear her, angling her head down, “To want to comfort a fellow glee club member.”

An almost inaudible snort met her ears. But when Santana didn’t say more, and Rachel didn’t chance a look back, she somehow managed to turn her attention back to her Chemistry homework.

Five minutes later, an eraser impacted the back of her head.

Rachel ignored it, taking a calming breath.

Less than two minutes passed before a pen hit between her shoulders blades. Followed by another one, and then several bits of paper, all of which ended up in her hair. Frustration finally got the best of Rachel, and she turned around just as another eraser came flying towards her.

It smacked her square in the nose and she whimpered, covering the spot reflexively.

“Whoops,” was Santana’s only response, and the smaller girl was too busy checking to make sure that hard rubber hadn’t done any damage to see the flicker of regret pass over the cheerleader’s face. It was gone as soon as Rachel locked eyes with her, instead back to her scowling, defensive expression.

“Is there something you want?” Rachel asked, trying to keep her tone level.

“Nope,” Santana answered, lips making a popping sound around the word.

“Because my offer still stands to - ”

“Finish that sentence and the next thing to hit your schnozz will be hella heavier than my eraser.”

“I’m just trying to - ”

“Last warning, Fraggelette.”

With a heavy sigh, Rachel relented again. She turned to her homework after a few more moments of staring at one another - or more like Santana glaring at her - and attempted to focus on conversions.

But she could barely concentrate, too caught up in anticipating another office supply thrown at her. Indeed, almost as soon as she finally gave in, setting her pencil point back down against her notebook, a crumpled up piece of paper bounced against her elbow. Sucking in an irritated breath, Rachel shook her elbow, and finished up problem #10.

She had to shake her elbow again when another crumpled piece of paper landed onto the desk next to her. _Santana_ …

She could hear Santana tearing another page out of her notebook. Really? _Really_? Already seething, as soon as the paper hit her shoulder, she snapped around, Santana’s name poised on her tongue. But as soon as, “ _Santana Lopez_!” passed her lips, Holly Holliday’s voice sounded from right above her.

“Rachel Berry,” Holly drawled, giving her an unimpressed look when she froze, terror slashing through her before she turned back around, “It looks like you’re asking for another detention, yes?”

Rachel’s mouth dropped open. “What? Ms. Holliday. It was Santana. _She_ \- ”

Santana snickered behind her.

“ _She_ ,” Rachel continued in panic, waving her hands around, “Was throwing things at me!”

Ms. Holliday raised her eyebrow, glancing at all the various things on the floor around Rachel, then back to a not-so-innocent looking Santana. Still, she tsked. “I’m sure Principal Figgins will be glad to know that he’ll have a worker bee free tomorrow afternoon,” she said, already scribbling out the detention slip.

Rachel’s face fell dramatically, mouth agape and eyes shining with possible tears. “B-but - But I - _Ms. Holliday_ \- ”

“Looking for an extra-extra day, Rachel?”

Snapping her mouth shut and looking back down to her desk, Rachel let out a frustrated sigh, shaking her head, not trusting her voice in that moment. Behind her she could hear Santana’s barely controlled snickers, and the final 30 minutes of the detention passed fairly quietly, save for Santana excusing herself to use the restroom.

At the end of their time, Ms. Holliday stood, making her way to the door. There, she paused, looking back to Santana. “Oh, and Ms. Lopez, enjoy _your_ detention tomorrow as well.” Before Santana could even get out an indignant sputter, the older woman was gone. Rachel hurried out seconds after, not wanting to get caught in the repercussions, and Santana was left alone fuming.

It wasn’t until she got home that evening, grumbling and tossing her books out of her bag to finally do the homework she had ended up ignoring in favor of terrorizing Rachel Berry that Santana noticed a folded slip of paper she hadn’t put in there.

Curiosity won out, and she grabbed it, opening it up. She nearly shredded it the moment she saw who it was from, but the words caught her eye and she found herself reading the short couple of sentences.

           

_Santana,_

_I know that you would generally rather speak to anyone who was not me, but, just in case you want someone outside of your usual circles and who that, in a way, perhaps could sympathize or at least direct you to those who could, I’m here. And I promise to not speak unless asked to, only listen._

_Sincerely, Rachel Barbra Berry *_

 

There was a gold star sticker at the end of the girl’s name, and Santana rolled her eyes, scoffing, her hands almost shaking with the want to crumple up the _stupid_ note and throw it in the trash where it belonged.

Instead she found herself reading it again, then a third time, and finally, sighing in irritation at herself, she threw it onto her desk, covering it up stubbornly with her books and refusing to acknowledge it for the rest of the night.

“Fucking goody-goody…” the Cheerio grumbled. “Fucking too-good-for-her-own-good Rachel fucking Barbra fucking Berry.”


	5. Chapter 5

Two days later, Santana was almost asleep at the back of the room. She'd been, while not waiting for Rachel to show up, surprised and a little disappointed (only because it meant she couldn't torture the girl after ignoring her the day before) that Rachel  _hadn't_  shown up. And she'd thought for  _sure_ Rachel still had a couple of days of detention left, Holly adding on a couple more after catching Rachel, once again, in Mr. Schuester's office. Santana had to hand it to her. The girl was  _dedicated_.

Idly tapping her fingernails against the wood of the desk, face in the crook of her arm, Santana could feel the siren song of sleep wrapping around her mind. But, just as she stopped her hand, curling her fingers in and relaxing further, loud sniffling and squeaking footfalls walked into the classroom. Having made the girl cry plenty of times before, Santana knew immediately who it was.

Red eyes and flushed cheeks and trembling lips, Santana was expecting. Drenched in orange slushy, arms wrapped around her body as she shivered, Santana was  _not_ expecting. In the back of her mind, Santana narrowed her eyes at the knowledge it was a random throw, seeing as Rachel hadn't been on that day's slushy rotation.

Murmurs and snickers grew in the room.

"M-Ms. Holliday," Rachel trembled out, voice hoarse and flat, "May I go to the bathroom?"

Ms. Holliday - and jeez, what had  _she_ done to get saddled with detention duty lately? - stared at Rachel, her shoulders and expression falling as she really took in what she was seeing. "Oh honey," she sighed, handing Rachel the bathroom pass, trying to smile at her supportively, "Take as much time as you need."

Nodding stiffly, taking the WMHS lanyard that served as the bathroom pass, barely holding onto it so it could escape soaking, Rachel turned on her heel and left the room, just as head down and sniffling as she had entered.

Santana stared at her retreating back, a snide snark tingling unsaid on her tongue.

"Damn, who did she upset?" a fellow, lower level Cheerio laughed to the right and front of her. She twisted in her seat, drawing Santana's attention from the door and Ms. Holliday's annoying mild consideration of her. "S, you know?"

"Bitch please," Santana threw back distractedly, "As if I pay attention to the dwarf and who she crawls out of the earth to talk to. Like you." Mentally shaking her head to pull herself back into her normal, Santana sneered, crossing her arms and tilting her head to glare at the girl, Chrysanthemum something-or-other, "Who said you could speak to me? Coach promote you without telling Becky or me?"

Straightening from the familiar position she'd been in to one that made it clear she knew her place, and that was being rigid and subservient, Chrys bowed her head. "No, Santana."

"Then shut up. I's got better things to do than listen to your pointless, insulting to my ears, chatter."  _Like figure out who ordered that unsanctioned slushy attack_ , she finished acidically inside her head. Especially one so vicious. Santana could count on one hand how many times Rachel had been given such a deluge before. That was, like, a double reason why it made her furious. She and Quinn decided who got slushied. To flout that, with that much volume… Santana's jaw tightened.

Hell. No.

A bitch had to get their ass handed to them.

Not bothering to see if Chrys had turned back around, respectfully not bothering her like she should have in the first place, Santana pulled her phone out of her pocket. Looking up, Holly only gave her a raised eyebrow, but fortunately didn't call her out. At least the substitute teacher overseeing detention was good for  _something_ ; even if she  _did_ insist on being there for the whole period instead of only coming in at the beginning and end to count and let go like all the other teachers did.

 _Q_ , she tapped out, glaring fiercely down at the screen,  _u update the slush list?_

Quinn was kind enough to send a response in less than a minute.  _No. U kno i only do it w/o telling u in special circs. Aren't u in detention?_

Santana growled, hot fury roaring back into life in her chest. Fucking hell. Someone was getting too big for their own good. Sliding her phone back into her pocket, she clacked her fingernails on the desk again, remembered what Rachel had looked like, and decided now would be a good time to go to the bathroom.

"Miss H," Santana stood up, glaring at anyone else who looked at her as she strode up to Ms. Holliday's desk, "I need to go…" she crossed her arms, tilting her head and smiling as widely and fakely as she could, "Relieve myself."

Ms. Holliday gazed at her neutrally, eyes sweeping up and down, studying her. "Rachel already has the bathroom pass."

"So make a new one."

"You know no two students are supposed to be out of detention at the same time. You're going to have to wait until Rachel gets back."

Santana grit her teeth, trying to not let her irritation show on her face. "Do you want an accident on your hands?"

Humming noncommittally, still giving Santana an annoying pointed look, Ms. Holliday tilted her head, "Why didn't you go earlier?"

"I was strapped for time and had to get here before the bell rang." Tossing her hair, Santana hardened her voice, pulling out the bitch card, "Look, Miss H., I'm about to pee my designer dress. Get it?"

"Oh, I think I get it exceedingly clearly," Holly seemed to mutter to herself, almost smirking as she leaned forward to grab a free index card. Uncapping a Sharpie, she quickly scrawled out "Bathroom Pass", signing her name with a flourish. Waving it in the air to help it dry, she gave Santana another pointed look. "Don't make me regret this."

Santana rolled her eyes, feeling uncomfortably like the teacher was warning her about something else. "Course not." She smiled tightly. "Thanks."

But instead of immediately letting the makeshift bathroom pass go when Santana reached for it, Ms. Holliday made sure Santana was looking at her. "Be nice," she warned quietly, eyes brooking no argument.

Santana scowled at her. Snatching the pass as soon as the older woman let go of it, she strode away. Whatever did that woman think was going to happen? Santana needed to use the bathroom, that's all. Coach's energy shakes had the annoying habit of going right through you.

Her grumbling getting louder and stronger as she checked each bathroom, only to find them empty, Santana let out a loud, dramatic, " _Finally_!" upon seeing Rachel at the sinks of the fourth bathroom she tried. Marching into the middle stall, right past a stricken, frozen Rachel, Santana did her business. Coming out to wash her hands in the sink next to Rachel's, she gave the girl a purposefully calculating innocent smile, more teeth than usual. "Been holding that in."

Rachel, still covered in orange slushy, blouse and camisole deposited on the sink, and only clad in her shoes and skirt and bra, looked even more red-eyed and miserable than she did in the classroom.  _Not to mention surprisingly tiny with a drool-worthy stomach_ , Santana's incredibly gay inner voice shouted as Santana took her in.

"S-Santana!" Rachel wrapped her arms around herself, covering her small but tasty looking cleavage, "W-What are you doing here?"

Santana scoffed, grabbing a towel from the dispenser and drying her hands carelessly. "What do you think, Oompa? Speaking of, whose panties did you twist so bad, hm?"

Jaw tightening, Rachel turned back to the sink, still shivering, and stubbornly continued her in-vain attempts at saving her clothes. "Victim blaming does not become you, Santana," she bit out.

Santana's smile faltered for a moment, but the shorter girl didn't notice at all. "Didn't answer the question, Tweedle Dee," she finally replied after a few seconds too long, in her own mind.

But Rachel kept her attention on her soaked clothes, and - fuck, she was  _still_ shivering. And her skin was definitely dyed orange-ish.

Minutes ticked by, and then, just before Santana decided she was either going to get a little more persuasive or just say fuck it and leave, Rachel asked, "Why are you still here, Santana?"

The cheerleader crossed her arms and cocked her hip. "Because princess hobbit won't spill the beans as easily as someone decided to spill a few slushies. Talk."

"Why?"

" _Because._ "

"That's not a reason. And also, I'm confused as to why you care."

 _Because your annoying ass is kinda cute and you wrote me a really fucking ridiculous note_ , came the immediate, unwanted thoughts, and Santana shut them down quickly. "'Cause someone's fucking with the hierarchy and  _no one_ tries one-upping Q 'n me."

Suddenly, Rachel stopped, her brows furrowing. "...What?"

Confused now herself, Santana's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'what'? Was I not clear enough? The List exists for a  _reason_. Q updates and mandates the list. Anyone ignoring that shit needs to be smacked down before they get  _ideas_."

"...The oddly formal and well-organized tyrannical system of hierarchy existing in this high school aside… I'm afraid I'm confused. You're either an exceptional actress, which, yes, I am already aware but this is a whole new level, or you  _actually_ don't know who did this," said Rachel.

Santana nearly screamed, taking a deep breath and telling herself that  _actually_ strangling Rachel was both illegal and not in her game plan. Then, the words played through her head again, and Santana felt her rage start boiling up for an entirely different reason. "Back up. Say that again."

"The oddly formal and - "

"Short version, hobbit."

"Um… You… are either very skilled in acting or you were not aware of this... happening…?"

"You think I ordered the hit," was Santana's final conclusion, and Rachel nodded slowly, cautiously.

"Yes…? As you said… the hits are controlled by you and Quinn generally… so... I just assumed that you were irrevocably angry with me due to our last detention together and they said it was from you so that's-"

"Who was it."

"What?"

Santana took another deep breath, barely keeping from pinching the bridge of her nose. "Try to keep up, twinkle-twinkle. Who.  _Slushied you_?"  _And apparently fucking used_ _ **my**_ _name. I'mma murder a bitch._

"So you didn't-"

" _Rachel."_

Jaw closing with a snap, eyes a little wide, Rachel froze like a deer in headlights.

 _Another_ deep breath. "Name. Now."

"Troy Johnson."

"The fucking  _swim_ team captain? Are you fucking- I swear to fucking God-" Pulling out her cellphone, with only a quick and stern " _Stay_ ," to a slowly backing away Rachel, Santana sent a text to Quinn.

The blonde's response was practically immediate.  _Wat the hell? Troy's dead. How bad is it?_

About to type back, Santana paused, turned her camera on, and snapped a quick pic of Rachel before she could react. Deeming it good enough to show the extent of the slushy, and, rolling her eyes, she barked at a " _Santana_!" crying Rachel in pure indignation, hurriedly covering her chest, "Oh come on. It's not like Q's gonna get herself off to it. And no." She preempted again, sending the pic to Quinn, "You get this  _one_ free pass for me not to ever use this pic as blackmail."

Rachel still glared at her. "Give me your phone."

Santana crossed her arms, lifting her eyebrow. "Come again?"

"I don't trust you to delete it," Rachel shook her head, trying to look imposing while half-naked and shivering, "Give it to me."

"Yeah. No. You aren't touching my phone."

Glaring, and as far as Santana was concerned looking a little too cute with the reddened, orange stained cheeks and damp, mussy hair, Rachel straightened her back as she took a step forward, unintentionally giving Santana a  _very_ nice view. "I will not allow you to have such a- slanderous photo of myself. What if - what if someone stole your phone, or- or hacked it- or - "

Santana was barely listening, already emailing the photo to herself. Then, with a dramatic sigh and roll of her eyes, she turned the phone around, showed the photo to Rachel – which cut her rambling off, and brought up the options. Without a word she hit delete, confirmed, and the picture was gone.

"Oh… Well... Thank you Santana. I appreciate that."

"Yeah. Whatever. Bend over."

" _WHAT?"_

Santana smirked. "Wanky… The sink, Matilda. Bend over the sink."

Rachel's face reddened considerably, eyes still wide.

Santana continued smirking and leaned a little closer, pressing Rachel back to the edge of the sink. "Unless... you got something else in mind?"

Seeming to come to herself, Rachel slipped out from Santana's reach, clearing her throat. "No. I don't. However I don't understand why you want me to-"

"Just do it, Hobs. I don't have all day."

" _Stop_ cutting me off," snapped Rachel.

"Then  _stop_ using your yapper and let me wash your ridiculously dyed hair."

Stunned at the outright admission as to Santana's intentions, Rachel found herself obeying, slowly leaning over the sink. She bit back a shiver when she felt the water come on, slowly turning to warm, and her stomach twisted in a decidedly not unpleasant way as Santana's fingers began slowly working through her dampened, sticky tresses. When Santana pulled away to check the text Quinn sent in response, Rachel found herself having to clamp down on an embarrassing protest. But Santana's hands were soon back, the girl mumbling, "Damn right he's going down." Her thigh pressed against Rachel's bare waist, and Rachel almost jumped at the unexpected skin-to-skin contact.

"Stay still," Santana took a firmer grip on Rachel's head, as if in warning.

"Sorry, just, I-I wasn't prepared."

A husky laugh left Santana's mouth, and Rachel could  _see_ the girl practically looking triumphant. "Don't tell me the glee princess is ticklish, too."

 _No_! Santana couldn't use that against her. Struggling, trying to jerk back, Rachel froze when Santana removed a hand from the warm water and her hair to press solidly down on the small of Rachel's back. Rachel's naked, chilled lower back that immediately erupted in goosebumps at the sudden heat. "I said  _stay_."

Something deep in Rachel's chest felt like it was… loosening, and despite herself she relaxed, staying where Santana put her, as directed. Almost in reward, Santana went back to cleaning her hair, a smug smirk and darkened eyes going unseen by Rachel. Because, really, since when did Rachel Berry listen to  _anyone_?

The whole situation was giving her… ideas… Similar to those she had been having when she'd pressed Rachel up against the trophy case, when she could feel the smaller girl's quickened pulse under her fingers and hear the short, stuttering breaths from her slightly parted lips.

Santana breathed in sharply through her nose, the running water masking the sound, and barely managed to keep from licking her lips. She did, however, glance down to appreciate the curve of Rachel's ass…  _Fuck. Those skirts are fucking magic or some shit._

Finally, satisfied with her work as she could now easily trail her fingers through the singer's hair, Santana turned the water off. "Don't move," she said, voice firm. And yet, Rachel went to straighten up, only to have a hand press to the back of her neck and hold her in place.

"Santana I need to -"

"Listen. What you were going to say is that you need to listen. Stay put so that water doesn't get all over the place. I'm going to get some towels." Pushing down lightly, to make sure Rachel knew what she meant, she scraped her nails softly along her neck as she pulled back. Rachel shivered, this time for a different reason than before, and Santana allowed herself to admire how well she'd gotten the girl to actually do what she said for another couple of seconds before turning, smiling smugly as she made her way to the door. Thinking about giving another warning, she decided against it, and left the bathroom without a word.

Grabbing a couple of towels from the janitor's closet that had been the site of many an illicit rendezvous with Brittany back in the day, if she had realized that she wasn't thinking about that, her thoughts still on Rachel getting slushied and leaving her there and how she was going to punish the pencil dick, she probably would have gotten panicky and thrown the towels at Rachel, escaping quickly. But because she didn't, stepping back into the bathroom, looking down to watch the door close behind her, as soon as she turned her gaze to where she'd left Rachel, she was struck motionless.

_Fuck. Me._

Santana didn't realize that she had just been  _standing there_ , staring at the sight of Rachel  _exactly_ where and how she had left her until Rachel's slightly nervous, unsure voice asking, "Santana…?" broke through her thoughts.

Shaking the… whatever it was she was suddenly feeling off, Santana took a few steps forward to stand behind Rachel again. "Even pixies can learn new tricks, apparently," she spoke, smirking as she wrapped up Rachel's hair in a towel and guided her to stand. "What else will you do for me?"

Now able to see Rachel's face in the mirror, and vice versa, the smirk on Santana's face only sharpened at the still flushed face and look of indignance.

"Nothing," Rachel replied, almost snapped.

"Ooh, feisty. That what I get for helping you, Berry?"

Rolling her eyes, some of the stubbornness seeping from her tense shoulders, Rachel sighed. "I  _apologize_  for my rudeness. Though I don't understand what your motives are."

Santana turned her gaze back to her own reflection. Fluffing her hair, and inspecting her makeup, she shrugged. "What's so hard to understand? A bitch stepped over the line. I'm just taking steps to show him his place and punish him accordingly." Even she knew that wasn't what Rachel was asking.

"Santana." Pulling her camisole out of the sink, squeezing and rolling it, Rachel made a small face as she watched the still orange-ish water run down the sink. "You know that's not what I meant."

Santana rolled her eyes. Fighting the urge to snatch Rachel's towel right off of her head, she instead sighed, turning to lean back against the sink, resting some of her weight on her palms. "You have something to say, you say it. I don't understand whatever weird language you're babbling in."

"I'm speaking  _English_. I know you know that."

"Are you? Maybe I can't hear clearly through that gigantic beak of yours."

Rachel's shoulders drooped almost immediately after that line slipped out of Santana's mouth. "And we're back to that," she mumbled, letting out a big, disappointed breath of air, setting her camisole aside to pick up her blouse. "Tell me, Santana," she tilted her head, looking at Santana from under her eyelashes, seemingly drawing her limbs back in to cover herself again, "Does it actually  _hurt you_  to be a decent human being for longer than five minutes?"

Santana's back stiffened, her eyes narrowing and a sneer tearing across her lips. " _Fuck you_ , Berry. Next time you get slush-dunked, try not to let it go to your brain. Makes you a rude and petty  _unappreciative_   _gremlin_." Deciding her patience was up and stinging - no, insulted - by Rachel's words, she turned on her heel without another word, kicked the door open, and walked through before it swung closed behind her.

Rachel was left staring. Had she actually…  _hurt Santana's feelings_?

If that was the case, well, just - "Ridiculous…" she muttered, shaking her head slowly. After all, "She insulted me  _first_ …"

Sighing heavily, sincerely hoping that Santana's words hadn't, also, actually been a threat for the future, she returned to her damp, stained clothes, dolefully picking them up, "Well… At least they'll be good enough to go home in… and throw away…"

* * *

Successfully ignoring Rachel when she came back to detention and leaving the room before she started gathering her stuff as soon as Ms. Holliday told them they could go, Santana made it home and changed into her pajamas, surfing Facebook and mocking anyone she could think of before her thoughts turned back to how Rachel had reacted to her and how  _she_ had reacted to  _Rachel_.

Staring at the e-mail she'd sent herself, the arrow of her mouse wavering over  _Delete_ , she sighed, groaned, closed her eyes, growled, closed her e-mail, closed her laptop, and left the room to find out when dinner was.


	6. Chapter 6

Rachel sat down across from Santana, not even pretending to be paying attention to the front of the room. Straddling the chair, arms crossed on the top of it, she waited for Santana to look up from where she was filing her already perfect nails. Santana could feel her stare. Even if she was ignoring the girl for all the usual reasons, not having to look at the monstrosity that was what she had chosen to wear that day also helped make up her mind to not acknowledge her existence.

She glanced up just enough to catch sight of Rachel’s ankles, and had to hold back her lunch from making an appearance. Yup. Still wearing it. What ungodly reason or rationalizing had happened to make Rachel think a pantsuit was acceptable to wear - _ever_? It didn’t even fit her well! Totally covered up her curves and made her shoulders look broader than they actually were, and it didn’t even _look_ like she had an ass. The color didn’t suit her at all, either, something Santana had _not_ seen by staring at her in complete revulsion for twenty minutes before classes started, of course.

Santana’s lips twitched. Damn her. Rachel was making her want to interrupt her shunning to hear whatever ridiculous excuse the girl would no doubt have.

Finally, “Can I help you?” she asked, tone flat and filled to the brim with boredom. She didn’t look up, either.

Rachel smiled. “I heard about Troy,” she said. “The whole school is talking about it.”

Still not glancing up, Santana rolled her eyes. “That’s the point of making an example of out of a nobody, shortcake.”

The smile didn’t fade. “That was your only prerogative? To keep the status quo in place?”

Finally, the Cheerio looked up, grimacing before she could force herself to only look at Rachel’s face and not the hideous, vomit-inducing excuse for clothing. “If memory serves, you have five minutes of me being even remotely civil before I revert to a scathing bitch. Make with the blabbering and get to your point.”

This time Rachel’s smile faltered a bit, and it was her turn to roll her eyes. “Santana, you insulted me first. Unfairly so.”

“Three minutes, Minnie Mouse.”

“I’m just saying that if you are intent on ‘dishing it out’ as you so often are than you need to also expect that eventually there will be a certain level of backla-”

“Two minutes.”

“Oh for- It hasn’t even been-”

“One minute and thirty seconds before it’s a one way stop at the Snix Station.”

“Are you _still_ calling yourself-”

“One minute.”

With a huff, cheeks puffing as she scowled, Rachel glared at the older girl. “This is ridiculous. You’re being incredibly immature.”

Santana just raised her eyebrow, and Rachel relented.

“Did you or did you not get revenge on Troy for slushieing me?” she asked, still irate.

The best way Santana could describe Rachel’s expression was like a little angry chipmunk. The thought made her snort, almost laugh, and she covered it up by sliding an easy smirk on instead. “Someone thinks awfully much about themselves,” she practically sing-songed even though her voice barely showed any emotion, going back to filing her nails. _And for once it’s not me_ , she added silently, still smirking.

Rachel huffed violently, her feet kicking out so her heels bounced off the chair legs. It was like a sitting foot stomp, and Santana had to swallow another incredulous laugh. The younger girl shook her head, “Why must you insist on evading my question?”

“It’s been more than my last time limit,” Santana looked up, unable to stop herself from recoiling even though she had tried to prepare herself; she met Rachel’s eyes, “Aren’t you afraid I’mma go off on you?”

Opening her mouth, Rachel paused. Closing her mouth, she frowned, stared at Santana, then slowly shook her head.

Santana raised her eyebrow again.

Rachel sighed, this time heavier than before. “I’m not going to apologize for defending myself, Santana. However, I _will_ apologize for being wholly ungrateful and for hur- _upsetting_ you.”

“I’m not ‘upset’,” challenged Santana, and Rachel rolled her lips inwards, eyes glancing to the side in a decidedly disbelieving way. “Something to say about it, squirt?”

“No, no, nothing,” Rachel hurried to say, looking down and tucking a few tresses of hair behind her ear. “Just… I’m not afraid of you… _hurting me_. Well. Not… physically. Not anymore. And… I appreciate that you haven’t sent or been sending various gender-identifying slurs at me, etcetera.”

Santana’s cheeks were _not_ suddenly warmer. She didn’t blush. Or flush. Or whatever. Ever. But she did let out a small grunt, shrugging one shoulder. “Whatever. Sorry for like, calling you a toucan or whatever.”

And just like that Rachel’s smile was near blinding, even more so than her terrible fashion sense. “Apology accepted, Santana. Thank you.”

The Cheerio was pretty sure she was going to throw up. That was the only thing that could describe the sudden twisting of her stomach. Because who the fuck made such a big deal out of apologies and seriously, that easy? “Seriously?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking. At Rachel’s look of confusion, Santana crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I barely say ‘sorry for being a bitch’ and it’s cool? Just like that?”

The smile didn’t wane, and _why_ was Rachel suddenly _blushing._ “Yes. I believe that you wouldn’t have apologized in your own, brusque way were it not sincere. And I appreciate the sentiment behind that sincerity.”

Santana had no wish to keep on this particular conversation, mostly because her stomach still felt _sick_. Definitely sick. “Don’t sound lame, twinkle.”

Rachel _giggled_ , looking down again, and clearing her throat. “Yes, well. Since it seems you aren’t going to answer my question, I’ll leave you alone for the remainder of our time together. Thank you again, Santana.”

It wasn’t really clear if the girl was thanking Santana for the apology, again, or for the mess she made of Troy and his reputation, and Santana really didn’t want to put much of any thought into that.

So of course, for the rest of the detention period, that was all she did.

As they were dismissed, half an hour later, just before Rachel was out the door, Santana blocked the way with her arm, looking incredibly annoyed and her scowl firmly in place. “The dickweed broke the rules. And if he had made you sick we’d lose Sectionals and then the whole fucking club would be on my ass over that shit. _Don’t_ think you're special, Toto.” She turned on her heel and walked away before Rachel could get a word in, but the shorter girl just smiled, biting her lip as a tint of red spread across her cheeks again.

Still smiling as she slid into her car, settling herself into the driver’s seat and taking her phone out to call her dads to let them know she was on her way, Rachel screamed, almost chucking her phone at the ceiling when a loud rapping on her window startled her. Holding her hands to her chest, trying to breathe normally, she stared, incredulous at Santana slightly leaning down to give her a disgruntled, impatient look.

“Yo,” Santana rapped again, “Open the damn window already.”

“What are - ugh. Just a second!” Turning her car on, and flirting with driving away instead of doing as Santana asked to get her back for scaring her half to death, Rachel gave in, still feeling charitable from their earlier meeting. “Yes?” she asked, rolling the window down, “Do you need a ride?”

“As if.” Santana snorted, “I’d be caught dead before someone saw me in a _Prius_.”

Rachel hmmed, nodding. “Then you’re here because…?” She wondered why that flutter in her chest happened again.

“Because I _have_ to know - why in the _hell_ are you wearing that?”

Frowning slightly, Rachel looked down at her suit, then back up to Santana. “What’s-”

“Cut the crap, Berry. You know that shit is uglier than Schuester’s puppy eyes at Ms. Pillsbury. Spill.”

“If you must know…” Rachel sighed. “I expected... some sort of retaliation today. Either, well, by you for my words last time, or from one of Troy’s teammates. The suit is easy to clean and doesn’t stain easily at all.”

“...Burn it, Berry.”

Rachel gasped. “ _Santana_! I will do no such thing!”

“Uh, yeah, you will. It’d be an actual felony to donate it. And it makes you look like a toddler who got into Great Granny Rita’s old office clothes. Stick to the skirts and dresses and, I cannot believe I’m fucking saying this, the argyle cardigans. _At least_ you can _almost_ pull off Japanese fetish schoolgirl.”

Rachel cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes and frowning in thought. “Wait… did you just-”

“Suit. Fire. See you tomorrow, Berrybyte. If you ever wear a pantsuit again I’ll personally dump the entire slushy machine on your head.”

Then she was gone, strutting away to her own Mustang and leaving a very off-beat Rachel Berry. Because Rachel was pretty sure that was supposed to be… _nice_? “...I need to stop getting detention… The more time I spend with Santana the more I almost feel like she’s… starting to almost… be _cordial_ with me…”

In the girl’s unique and biting way, of course… But still. Santana Lopez, _cordial_?


	7. Chapter 7

An almost peaceful amount of time passed before Rachel found herself in detention again. Having worked off both of her trespassing infractions, as well as the extra days given to her by Ms. Holliday (of which she was still irritated about), Rachel had gotten herself into a double-whammy of trouble. Not only did she stuff the election ballot boxes for Kurt, but she’d also had an emotional outburst when confronted with her birth mother. Barely salvaging her attendance at school, having been threatened with suspension for the election tampering - which would have banned her from participating in Sectionals! - by _volunteering_ to spend the next two weeks in detention instead, in the span of another hour, she’d almost made that all for naught. What had shot her right past the tipping point when confronted with her mother was summed up in two words: The Troubletones.

The Troubletones, which had led to Santana turning her back on glee club.

Rachel had felt Santana’s departure almost personally (unlike Mercedes and Brittany and Sugar’s). It had happened out of _nowhere_ , and still vibrating with rage and what felt uncomfortably like betrayal, she stomped into detention, chose a seat at the far back of the room, and for the first time, broke the rules by pulling out her iPod. Choosing her calming Barbra Streisand playlist, she vowed not to look for the cheerleader.

Five minutes later, Santana walked in, carelessly plopping down kitty-corner to Rachel, popping her gum loudly, and lazily rolling her head back to look at Rachel. Another loud _pop_ , and Santana rolled her eyes, turning back to the front of the room.

She was the least surprised person in McKinley High by Rachel’s sudden mood drop, and while she didn’t have any idea _exactly_ what stick got shoved up the girl’s ass, she knew that Rachel had been a fucking ‘woe is me’ diva since the election results and her near-suspension.

Santana herself was high on life. Brittany had won, _of course_ , and she was now the Co-Captain to the femme fatales that were The Troubletones. It was _her_ time to shine, and even though now that the stage was set for it, she couldn’t _quite_ deny that she was anxious as hell.

A solo was one thing, but… No. _No._

She was a Cheerio’s co-captain, she’d been in leadership positions before and performed in front of way bigger audiences. This was _nothing._

Still…

She couldn’t place the expression on Rachel’s face when the news had been given, and she still couldn’t figure it out now.

It hadn’t been _jealousy_. Not even so much _anger_.

It had almost been like… hurt.

Ten minutes after her arrival, Santana turned around, pulling out Rachel’s earbuds.

Rachel yelped, hands going to her now sore ears. She glanced up at the old science teacher asleep at the desk in front, then glared at Santana. “ _What_?” she hissed.

Santana was almost taken aback. “Wow… That stick up there is bigger than I thought. Hello to you, too, tinkerbell.”

If anything, Rachel’s glare intensified, and she didn’t say a word.

“Okay, seriously, the fuck? Believe it or not there _is_ actual talent in this school _besides_ you. Stop being a jealous little princess and own up to that. If you didn’t hoard solos and stage time _constantly_ then _maybe_ your little glee mess wouldn’t be up the creek without a paddle and gaining water,” snapped Santana.

Rachel took a deep breath, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and trying to keep her scowl from becoming more of a pout. “One; you seldom ever go for solos. Mercedes always goes for solos. Just her out of everyone that left. You go on and on about me stealing solos but the fact is that I work _the hardest_ when it comes to vocals. I never said you and Mercedes weren’t talented. I said neither of you put in the time outside of glee to _work_ for them unless someone else is shoving you in that direction. And two; that isn’t even the point. Stop putting words into my mouth when you know _nothing_ about me or what is happening in my life.” With that, Rachel reached for her earbuds, only for Santana’s grip on them to tighten. “ _Santana_ ,” she warned, trying her hardest to keep her voice from trembling, “Please let go.”

But Santana didn’t relax her grip. She pulled harder, succeeding in pulling Rachel’s iPod toward her, only for Rachel to snap it back, the cord to the earbuds getting yanked out. “That’ll work,” the older girl shrugged, putting the earbuds into her jacket pocket, “There. Now you _have_ to listen. Berry.”

“Please give them back.” Rachel’s voice was quiet, flat, “I don’t want to continue having to ask you.”

“Then explain to me what’s got that stick screwed up in there. Because I’m pretty sure you both complimented and insulted me in the same breath, and you normally only do that when you’ve got more to say. Gotta have one sentiment win out, after all.”

Rachel clammed up, stubbornly looking away from the other girl.

“Really?” groused Santana. “I actually _tell_ you to spill words and you decide you’re short, silent, and mysterious?”

Turning around more fully, Santana leaned forward, eyes narrowed, studying Rachel almost. The singer began to squirm under the scrutiny, and then Santana began throwing out words, watching for a reaction. “Losing glee club. Not having a solo. Mr. Schuester. Finn. Quinn being weird. Kurt losing. Shelby helping-” Rachel’s whole body seemed to tense subconsciously, and Santana pressed harder. “You’re pissed because the top notch Vocal Adrenaline coach is helping _us_ and not _you_? Are you even serious right now?” However, all she got was a small huff, and she thinned her lips in thought. “You’re throwing a temper tantrum over Shelby. Why? If it’s not because she’s working with a superior team, then what the fuck, Berry?”

“The Troubletones are not _superior_ ,” hissed Rachel. “Any and all talent will be carried by you and Mercedes alone. Not _her_. Though by all means, wave her flag a little harder.” Immediately Rachel internally cursed herself, because _that_ almost sounded borderline petty.

“ _What_ is your deal with Shelby? Because this is getting real old, real fast, and you’re slowly shrinking down to two-year-old levels of emotional intelligence. So she didn’t want you. Whatever. Get over it.”

Rachel paled, her chest tightened, and without any way to stop it, all of her anger plummeted, replaced with nothing but… She felt… sad. The tension fell away from her features, shoulders sagging, and Rachel’s eyes turned to her lap. “I’ve been trying,” she mumbled.

Santana’s features twisted in confusion. “...I…” Realization hit her like a brick wall, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Wait. Isn’t she your…”

“Shelby is my birth mother, Santana, yes. And, as you so accurately put it, she didn’t want me. She was supposed to stay away. And she didn’t. And now she’s back, specifically just to- to ‘fix things’, or so she claims. And somehow destroying the only thing that makes me happy in this school is her master plan. Now. Please give me my earbuds back.” Her bottom lip, despite her best efforts, was already quivering, and Rachel’s tenuous hold on her tightly-wound self-control was quickly slipping away.

She would not cry here. Not in this school, in front of Santana Lopez. Not in front of anyone. Not over this.

“Oh shit, you’re going to cry, aren’t you.”

“ _No_.”

“Oh god, I can _see_ the redness creeping into your eyes and nose. It’s like you’re turning into a Jewish lava lamp right in front of me.”

Rachel turned her head, curling her hands into fists in her lap, and laid her cheek against the top of her desk. She closed her eyes, willing Santana to leave her alone if she wasn’t going to give her her earbuds back.

Santana let out a long sigh, as if verbalizing an aggravated eyeroll. But she didn’t say anything, allowing Rachel to continue breathing in and out deeply, trying to get a handle on her emotions.

Then, “Shelby’s a real bitch, isn’t she?”

What? Rachel jerked, trying to decide if she should look up or not.

“Yeah, with what she did to you and how she’s lording over Quinn with the lizard offspring, I wouldn’t be surprised if she started sleeping with Puck.”

“Don’t be absurd…” mumbled Rachel. “Shelby is… she’s a professional. And-” a thick swallow, “She seems to be a very good mother. I- I know Quinn is hurt. But. But Beth is… I-” Rachel drew into herself, slamming her eyes shut. “Just because Shelby wasn’t - _isn't and won’t be_ \- a good mother to _me_ doesn’t mean she’s not right for Beth.” Rachel breathed in heavily, sniffling a few times and trying to straighten up and compose herself. “I have two very wonderful and adoring fathers who have given me the world as best they are able. It’s-- It’s her loss.” Another hiccup. “B-besides. That’s. That’s not. I just don’t understand-”

“It’s not _personal_ , Rachel,” Santana said suddenly, quietly, but firmly. Rachel’s head snapped over to look at her, lip still trembling. Santana felt her chest tighten uncomfortably, and she didn’t know what to do with her hands. That was annoying. “Look, like. Fuck… Don’t take this the wrong way, ‘cause for once I’m not _trying_ to tear you down here. The Troubletones aren’t about you.”

Rachel looked ready to speak, and Santana’s hand shot out, covering her mouth. “Let me finish,” she said sharply, and only when Rachel’s shoulders relaxed again did Santana draw her hand back. “This isn’t a personal attack on you. And yeah, like… I get that… I get that seeing us, or whatever, going to your bitch of a mom sucks. I’m not jumping for joy over here. _But_ ,” Santana went on, “Shelby _is_ giving us _our_ chance in the spotlight. And she’s _good_.”

Blinking back tears, Rachel looked away once more. “Unlike you, glee is all I have… All a lot of us have. ...You said you’d never do anything to ruin that.”

“Rachel… Seriously?”

Rachel looked at her, stunned, eyes wide. “W-what?”

Not catching exactly what she had just said, Santana spoke, “You’re giving up right now? Just like that? No competitive drive? No will to prove us wrong and take back the stage? Just gonna let Shelby swoop in and take Schue’s spot - which would not be a bad thing - and have The Troubletones take over?”

Frowning, the girl bit her lip. “If you win, glee loses. And if we win, you’ll be angry and probably leave anyway.”

“That’s not-- look, logistics will be hashed out after Sectionals. But if you seriously don’t even fucking try, I will be _pissed_. It’s a competition, Rachel. Be _competitive.”_ A sigh, followed by, “And… Jesus fuck… This isn’t like, me – us – choosing your mom over you or whatever. We’re with her because Shelby’s a cool and actually _good_ coach. But you’re like, Rachel fucking Berry. Not exactly forgettable, even _with_ Shelby around.”

Rachel couldn’t keep back a sniffle, suddenly tearing up for another reason entirely. As an eye overflowed, she reached up, brushing the back of her hand over it, wanting to look away from Santana but unwilling to lose the sight of the girl’s dark, intense gaze before she, most probably, came back to herself. “You…” she swallowed, trying to keep her smile restrained, “You really think that about me?”

Santana groaned, “God, such a compliment whore.” Taking a quick look around to make sure no one was listening in, she leaned forward on her forearms, silently impressed that Rachel didn’t lean back away from her. “Berry. I thought you had finished with the insecure little girl act last year when you finally got over Q stealing the man-child from you. Don’t you _know_ how badass you - ” She blinked, scowled, and affected a much more uncaring attitude, but still practically growling out, “You’d _be_ if you just fucking stopped relying on others to determine your own self-worth? That’s what your whole fucking issue with today boils down to, isn’t it?”

“B-but it’s not about my self-worth. It’s about Shel - Ms. Corcoran, and how she - ”

“Rejected you in favor of Beth and the other top glee members. Ergo, your ego took a hit.”

“No. That’s not - ”

“Except it totally _is_. ‘Cedes and I are gone, so what? And we took Brittany and Sugar, too. So? You regroup under some cheesy banner of ‘ _underdog_ ’ and ‘ _family_ ’ because you’re _you_ and that’s what you’re good at, and - ”

“ _Santana_. If you would just let me _talk_ , you’d hear that it’s about how **_you_** _walked away from **me**_!” There was an intense beat of silence with Santana staring at her, and Rachel flinched, drooping, her voice lowering from the heated whisper she’d been using, “I thought we were starting to become friends.

“O-or th-that...” She hastened to continue, panicking with the need to rectify what she’d just blurted out, “We had at least relaxed our antagonistic rapport.”

Santana blinked, narrowing her eyes as she glanced around, noticing a few other kids trying to subtly watch the exchange. With an even harder glare than she had been using before, she stared each one down until they went pale and looked away, then turned back to Rachel, who looked to be stubbornly showing at least a certain level of bravery.

“We are _not_ ‘friends’,” Santana hissed, almost spitting out the word. Rachel winced as though having been slapped, but didn’t look down or away. “And--” Santana struggled, trying to figure out how to even react to this… revelation of sorts.

Rachel was ridiculously upset because she felt _abandoned_ by _Santana_? Not the mother choosing her and Mercedes, technically, or even the creation of the Troubletones. Specifically, according to the singer, it was because Santana left glee. And went to Shelby.

Truthfully, she was speechless. “We’re not-- I can’t even- We’re not even on stupid, useless _note_ giving terms. Why would you-” Except, clearly they were, because she was pretty sure she still had that ‘stupid’ and ‘useless’ note lying on her desk back in her room. Rachel seemed to shrug that off, though, as though unsurprised and most likely having expected it to be thrown away upon discovery.

“Well, yes,” Rachel ventured. “But… We’ve sort of… Bonded in our mutual disciplinary affairs,” she spoke again, a bit smaller than she had sounded moments ago.

Santana’s stomach twisted at the change of tone, and there was a little part of her needling away at her heart; probably pity, she decided -- assured.

She scoffed, not as brusquely as intended, and leaned back into her chair again, crossing her arms. She… really needed to change the subject. “Like I said, this isn’t about _you_. I wanted my chance in the spotlight. I had the opportunity, I took it. It’s not about _Shelby_ either. It’s about _me_. Something you should probably understand.”

Rachel bit her lower lip, debating with herself before, “So... you didn’t… I mean…”

“ _No_. Believe it or not, I didn’t go into this thinking ‘I can totally fuck Rachel over’. So just... Get over it and bring your game face to Sectionals because we’re going to destroy you guys.”

Mollified, though a fire now starting up deep in her chest, Rachel’s back straightened, jaw setting and that spark that Santana _hadn’t_ missed for the past day back in her eyes. “Like I told you, Santana. You and Mercedes have talent, and Shelby will make you work. But it won’t be enough. You’ll be amazing,” she continued, making Santana’s heart trip. “But you won’t win.”

“We’ll see about that.” Taking Rachel’s earbuds out of her jacket, she smirked, told herself the warmth in her chest was from the rush of the competition and not because it meant anything that Rachel had complimented her voice (again), and dropped them arrogantly onto Rachel’s desk. “Gonna have to find yourselves some new club members first. Get back to me when you’re not talking out your ass.”

When she turned back around, pulling out her own iPod to signal the complete end of the conversation, she couldn’t shake the fucking _unnecessary_ feeling that Rachel going back to her iPod instead of trying to continue the banter bothered her. God. That was _ridiculously_ , _pointlessly_ annoying, too.


	8. Chapter 8

When Santana told Rachel to find new club members, she hadn’t anticipated that would mean Rachel and her ex-monkey of a boyfriend would wind up going to a male strip joint to scoop up the Trouty Mouth two days later.

“Get yourself a lap dance?” was the first thing out of her mouth when Rachel took the seat two away from her.

“Excuse me?” Putting her backpack onto the chair to unzip and pull out what looked like even more Chemistry history, Rachel gave her a blank look.

Santana lay her head into her palm, eyebrows up. “Lap. Dance. You _did_ have a front-row seat to ‘ _White Chocolate_ ’,” she snorted, “Didn’t you?”

Making an ‘oh’, Rachel rolled her eyes. “I’ll have you know,” she said primly, moving her backpack so she could sit, pushing her hair behind her shoulder, “I closed my eyes when I gave him the twenty.”

Santana straightened. She hadn’t heard that Rachel had _paid_ him. That was… That was just _dirty_ , and not in the good way. “Didn’t mean you didn’t see with your hands,” she sniped, “Though I wouldn’t blame you. Speaking from experience, Bieber does have quite the body.”

“I doubt you have anymore interest in Sam, seeing as you have finally embraced your sexuality, so what is it you want to know, Santana?” Rachel paused her pencil above her notebook, brown eyes curiously watching her.

Narrowing her eyes at the other girl, Santana shrugged. “Just wondering if you finally started acting like a normal sixteen year old instead of the toddler you’ve been stuck at for most of your life.”

Rachel furrowed her brow. “Are you…” she paused, opened her mouth, and peered at Santana again, “Asking if I am going to attempt to enter into a romantic relationship with Sam? Or, or that I had already…” She made bunny ears, “ _Experienced_ him? Aside from the reality of an aborted Junior Prom date, what would give you that impression I would be open to it?”

For some reason, this line of questioning was starting to make Santana uncomfortable. She shifted, trying to relieve the oddness in her stomach. “You’ve been single for, what, almost a year? With how badly you were lusting after Finn, I’d have thought you’d be in an asylum after suffering a mental breakdown by now.”

Before Rachel could answer, insult flashing across her face as she opened her mouth, Ms. Pillsbury nervously clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay!” she said, smile anxious but tone bright, “Everyone seems to be here and accounted for. Please work on homework or find other ways to quietly occupy yourself, and in no time at all the hour and a half will just whisk away.” With that she smiled, sat down at her desk, and began organizing what appeared to be, no surprise, pamphlets.

The four other students took out their books or their cellphones or their iPods, and Rachel followed suit by going back to her homework.

Santana, though, smirked. “No abashed retort? Guppy lips got your tongue?”

Rachel looked up at Santana, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Hilarious. Truly.” She seemed to go back to her work, except stopped, looked back up, and set her pencil down calmly. “Though, I am curious.”

“Oh god here we go…”

“What _is_ your sudden obsession with my romantic life?”

Scowling, even making a face, Santana gagged. “Yeah, no, ew. Obsessed is JewFro buying your panties, or you sneaking into Schuester’s office ten times a day to change the setlist and shit. If anything, I’m concerned.”

Rachel perked in surprise. “Oh? Really?”

“Duh. Trouty is a loser but at least he’s a mildly attractive loser. Him dating you would shift the whole social ladder around. I’m not down with that.”

To Santana’s surprise, Rachel didn’t flinch, instead seeming to study her. “I don’t believe you,” she decided. “That does leave the question unanswered. Why are you _concerned_ about my romantic life? Especially considering that, as you so clearly and austerely stated, we are not friends. Thus, what I do in my personal life is my own business.” Before Santana could get a word in, Rachel added, “Also, you can no longer use the excuse of me being too depressed or distracted to perform in Sectionals, which is absurd anyway, because we are now on opposing teams, and frankly already without me you know your chances for winning decrease significantly. Logically, you should be trying your best to both woo me into a false sense of security and get me to hook up with someone, only to then utterly destroy said relationship, sending me into a spiral of woe.”

Santana cocked her head. “You’ve put a lot of thought into trying to predict what I’m going to do, haven’t you?”

Rachel shrugged. “Not just you. When you’re where I am on the social ladder, as you so nicely put it, you have to assume everyone is out to get you. Add in my natural talent and above average drive to be who I’m meant to be, and you get an existence where profiling your worst enemies can turn a day from being _Truly Awful_ into one that’s _Only Slightly Inconvenient_.”

Santana didn’t know if she should be pleased or not at being classified as one of Rachel’s worst enemies. Wait, who was she kidding? Pleased, definitely. It meant she was exactly where she should be: at the top of the ladder. She decided, however, not to mention that what Rachel had said was true, in the reverse, for Santana as well. That was too much common ground to stomach having with the hobbit. “Gotta say it’s an ego boost to hear how much you think of me being capable of. Makes Snix happy. Okay,” she leaned back in her seat, “Then tell me. Who would I send to woo you?”

Rachel looked thoughtful, tapping her chin. “Hmm… Finn is a non-option because we both mutually agreed on the break and he has, surprisingly, been settled with it. Also he prefers to not believe much of anything you say. Hm… I suppose Sam is the next obvious choice. However, his boyish charm and loyal demeanor aside, I believe we would get bored of one another. It would almost be too easy.” More thought, before Rachel nodded to herself.

“Noah, perhaps. You know him well, he listens to you and trusts you the most out of the other boys in the club, and remains a friend of yours even now. Also, we have shared faith, we are amiable to one another consistently, have shared passions, and we would both, theoretically, ‘get’ something out of it beyond a romantic and perhaps sexual relationship. He would also take the least amount of convincing from you and therefore the least amount of effort on your part. As well, when you eventually work to utterly destroy the relationship, there are multiple insecurities you are capable of using and Noah would still, eventually, forgive you if it became clear that you had a hand in the destruction.”

Santana felt her opinion of the girl rise. “If I gave you more variables, would you be able to adapt the plot?”

Nodding, Rachel laced her hands together on her desk. “I believe I would be able to. Are you going to give me some?”

But Santana shook her head, waving her hand dismissively in the air. “No, not right now, Jewberry, though I’m sure it’d be good for some cheap entertainment.” She’d thought of something; she just wasn’t sure she wanted to bother knowing the answer. She had the feeling it would just make the mystery that was Rachel Berry clearer, and, yuck, why would she want that? Even if the girl was a perfect foil for Santana’s torment, it didn’t mean Santana wanted to get to _know_ the dwarf.

Rachel watched her calmly, then, when Santana didn’t seem to be going to say anything else, shrugged to herself and pulled her homework back into place. That was actually more interaction than she had expected Santana to give her. After that disastrous detention three days before, which had left Rachel bewildered and hurt and oddly bolstered, they’d gone back to ignoring each other. Without Santana being in glee anymore (no doubt working hard learning past Vocal Adrenaline performances and trade secrets), and with Rachel stressing out more than anyone else in The New Directions over the reality of getting enough members to qualify, she had pushed all thoughts of Santana aside…

...Except for the dreams.

Heat glowed in Rachel’s cheeks, and she bit her lower lip, shifting in her seat. The dreams, having started after her and the cheerleader’s altercation over Santana’s flattening of her Cs (which Rachel had to admit didn’t happen as often as it had at the first revelation of the older girl’s singing voice), had only gotten worse. After the days of mopping up the gym, then again after the trophy case incident, and then again and more explicit after Santana washing her hair, Rachel was starting to think she would never get a Santana-free night’s sleep again.

If they had just been the kind Rachel had gotten every once in a while, normally having to do with Santana trying to drown her in a mad scientist’s vat of slushy, that would have been fine. But they weren’t. They were now more like, _after_ Santana pushed her into the chilly drink, she pulled her out, slipped her hands under her clothes, and licked the slushy off of her, inch by excruciating inch. Or bent her over the theatre stage to push into her underwear and… Rachel’s hand tightened around her pencil. ...While biting into her neck.

Pushing those thoughts away, Rachel attempted to get back to work, but Santana had been watching her closely, and was now wearing an almost predatory smirk on her features. “Already thinking of Puck, hm?”

Jumping, nearly snapping her pencil in half in surprise, Rachel looked up and glared, cheeks redder than before. “ ** _No_** ,” she snapped, with so much force that Santana actually had to believe her. “Now, if you excuse me, I’ve work to finish.”

Santana just chuckled, noting with satisfaction that the smaller girl’s face remained tinted pink, her jaw set tightly, and her eyes had an almost glazed look to them.

She definitely was not working. Maybe she wasn’t fantasizing about Puckerman, and god she fucking hoped not because _ew_ , but Santana had done her job. Rachel was frazzled, and would remain so for probably the rest of detention.

Satisfied and feeling victorious, the cheerleader turned back in her seat, took out her iPod, and prepared to sleep away the next hour, visions of indignant and stomp-y little Rachel Berrys all flustered and annoyed drifting through her head. 


	9. Chapter 9

Detention. Again.

Rachel was going mad. Of course, she was still serving her time for the voting scandal, but _still_.

Her last two detentions since seeing Santana in with her four days ago had been quiet, unobtrusive, and even relatively easy. Principal Figgins had made her sort through returned Library books, nothing more, for both of the detentions. Even though she hadn’t been able to do homework it had been a welcomed break from… Whatever was going on with her and Santana.

Not that anything was going on, because it wasn’t, obviously.

Or at least, that was what Rachel chose to believe in firmly.

But just when she thought she’d get by another detention of, this time, organizing _all_ of the sheet music in both the band room and the choir room (and there was a surprising vast, and dated, amount of it), in walked Santana.

Well, no.

Strutted, more like.

The cheerleader was in her uniform still, surprisingly, and the scowl on her face was telling.

Upon seeing Rachel, however, the taller girl smirked. “Ooh, another day with Twinkleberry. _Perfect_.”

The words lacked sarcasm, but were coated in… Rachel wasn’t sure. Something that made her stomach twist and heart speed up, and the cocky smirk the girl wore didn’t help at all. Rachel wanted to be annoyed, and she was. But not nearly as much as she felt she should have been.

Santana, though, was pleased as punch. She’d been thinking on and off (every night) about the conversation with Rachel since their last shared detention, and had come to a conclusion: Rachel thought she had complete understanding of how Santana’s games worked, making Santana _predictable_.

Santana was not okay with that, and she knew for a fact that she had a few tricks up her sleeve that Rachel _wasn’t_ prepared to handle.

That day at the trophy case replayed in her mind over and over again, and she knew an exploitable weakness when she saw one. So she had been itching to test her theory a little more, to get a better idea of where the lines were, and how far she could cross them without Rachel screaming assault or just feeling dirty herself. It couldn’t be done with others around, but now…

Almost casually, Santana walked into the band room, sitting down on a chair nearby and crossing her legs, letting her skirt shift around to expose her thighs, and sharpened her smirk. “Don’t pout, Smurfette. Just think: you get to organize the shit for music we have here - a fave hobby of yours - _and_ be in the presence of the sexiest girl in this hellhole. _Again_. At this rate, maybe you’ll manage to even absorb a decent fashion sense.”

Still frowning, eyes certainly not glancing up and down Santana’s legs for a millisecond, Rachel huffed, fists on her hips. “You are supposed to be helping, Santana.”

“Uh-uh,” Santana shook her finger, clicking her tongue. She settled more solidly into her chair, lifting her arms into a calculated stretch, putting her chest, even under a sports bra, to good use. “Didn’t we, mmm, already go over this?” Finishing the stretch, she opened her eyes, supremely pleased to see Rachel’s wide eyes riveted on her, only to break away with a clearing of the girl’s throat and light pinkening of her cheeks. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

Rachel crossed her arms. “Santana,” she sounded out, as if she was speaking to a child, “They’re not going to let us leave this room until they’re sorted. If you help me, it’ll go by faster.”

“Hmm.” Placing her finger onto her lower lip, Santana tilted her head as if in contemplation, then gave Rachel a devious, arrogant smile, “Nope. Not gonna happen.”

Rachel’s jaw flexed. It wasn’t fair how, even sitting, Santana held all of the power in the room absolutely. Rachel never liked feeling powerless.

 _Though your dreams say elsewise_ , a small voice corrected, almost chastising. She had to tear her eyes away from Santana’s thighs again.

 _Why_ was she wearing her uniform? “...Isn’t Coach Sylvester going to kill you for wearing that?” she suddenly blurted out, then sighed internally, shaking her head at herself for letting Santana unconsciously make her change the subject.

Uncrossing and crossing her legs again, Santana dropped her head back, running her hand along her hair, tangling her fingers in her ponytail. “Why, is Little Miss Mini-Gay _distracted_?”

Oh goodness.

Was… Was Santana _flirting_ with her?

No. No. Couldn’t be. She was just trying to fluster her, Rachel thought, then immediately blushed when Santana smirked at her, wiggling her fingers as if to say _caught you_.

 _If she is, she’s doing a good job of it_. Rachel narrowed her eyes at the smug looking girl, clipping out, “What are you doing?”

If Santana was startled by Rachel’s question, she barely showed it. Aside from a tightening around her eyes and forehead, lips firming for a split-second, the cheerleader surveyed Rachel with the same amount of devil-may-care imperiousness as before. “Gracing you with my sexy self. We’ve already gone over this.”

But Rachel shook her head. “You know I’m not talking about that.” She closed her eyes. pursed her lips, and corrected cavilly, “Not _just_ that, seeing as you insist on calling yourself that any moment you can. What. Are. You. Doing?”

Santana hooked her fingers around her necklace, playing with the gold heart. While she had expected Rachel to show a backbone, she hadn’t expected it to happen that soon. Unwillingly, her opinion of Rachel rose again - though not by much. After all, she was working under the assumption that Rachel was straight, if sexually accepting. Didn’t mean Santana had never swayed those who thought they were the straightest of the straight, though. She had. She was hot. And she knew what to do with it.

Dropping the charm and sliding her fingers down her chest to make sure it looked like that had been her plan all along, Santana met Rachel’s gaze again. “As much as this conversation is _so_ interesting, with you making no sense again as usual, I’mma have to…” she glanced at her watch, “Postpone this. I gots a date with my street clothes.”

Rachel balked, then tightened her hands into fists again at her sides. “Are you- _seriously_?” she scoffed.

Santana just shrugged, already heading to the door.

No. Rachel stepped in front of her, back straight. “I can’t believe this. Instead of - of _course_ you won’t answer. Of _course_ you’d come here knowing you had to leave again. You know what you’re doing, Santana? You’re running! That’s what you’re doing!”

Santana looked down at Rachel, eyes narrowing slightly. “I am _not_ running, Berry-vertically-challenged. Look.” She shoved her watch into Rachel’s face, “I have until the big hand hits _that_ line to gets my ass into my civvies. And, as annoying and bossy as you are, and however important you are under the impression that you are in that giant head of yours to go with your giant nose, you _aren’t_ an important enough _anything_ to stop Sue from crucifying me. Kay?” Placing her left hand onto Rachel’s waist, and reclaiming her watch hand to settle it on the girl’s other side, she pushed against her, moving her out of the way. “Got it, sweetie?” _Holy fuck was she tiny_. “Good.”

Rachel, for her part, flinched, gasping with the first touch of Santana’s hands, and then again at Santana’s audacity. Though she could have locked her legs or shoved Santana away, she allowed Santana to get away with the action. Sue Sylvester was a scary woman, and even Rachel had to admit that attempting to impede any part of her large network of control… It wouldn’t be pretty, and Rachel wasn’t guaranteed her nose would survive (no matter which woman punished her).

Now though, Rachel was doing her best not to show the high blush on her cheeks as she started recollecting herself. Partly from indignant anger, and partly from the personal showcase of the other girl’s strength, she struggled out of Santana’s grip, putting distance between them. _D-Damn that smug smile on the girl’s face_!

Santana returned to her goal of leaving the room. Distractedly feeling the need to burn the skin off of her palms to get the feeling of Rachel’s knitted dress off of them (and certainly _not_ thinking about how Rachel’s _body_ had felt against them), she stopped. “Oh,” she looked over her shoulder, cutting off Rachel’s gathered protest, “That emotion you’re feeling? Don’t worry. You won’t have to miss me for long.”

Rachel rolled her eyes as hard as she could as Santana left, glaring at the door and mentally preparing what she thought was a very, very impressive monologue as to why Santana needed to start respecting her during their shared detentions - and also _help_.

Inwardly, Rachel knew it was most likely a lost cause, and part of her was still reeling from the overt flirting that had been directed her way.

Of course she was fully aware that the girl’s only intentions were to embarrass her, and, shamefully almost, it had been _working_. Or… really… was working. Present tense. And that, more than anything, frustrated Rachel beyond kind or civil words.

It was nearly fifteen minutes before Santana came back, and Rachel had made massive progress in terms of actually doing what they were supposed to be doing.

Pointedly, Rachel ignored the cheerleader as she strode in, continuing to organize the sheet music via alphabetical order; she had already finished separating everything by genre. And just as she was about to consider perhaps further organizing the genre groups by time period within the alphabetical groups, she felt hands on her hips and hot breath on the back of her neck.

“Lookin’ good, Twinkles,” came Santana’s voice, purposefully low.

Rachel shrieked in surprise, jumping away from Santana and rounding on her, face flush and lips trembling. “Excuse me, Santana. There is such thing as ‘personal space’,” she snapped, trying to get her bearings back.

Santana just snorted, crossing her arms flippantly and rolling her eyes. “Oh chill, Skippy. Like you didn’t get a little wet in your granny panties just now.”

“ _Excuse me_!? I will have you know, Santana Lopez, that there are a great many things I am very patient and accepting of, but disrespecting my personal boundaries or emotional stability is _not_ one of them.”

Santana blinked, brows furrowing, before one eyebrow quirked up. “Berry, _relax.”_

When the singer continued to glare however, Santana finally relented, sort of. “ _Fine_. I’m _sorry_ or whatever. Stop looking like I kicked Barbra Streisand in the kneecaps.”

Rachel’s shoulders relaxed, as did her glare. She nodded. “Apology accepted. Your terrible choice of words and otherwise nonchalant attitude aside.”

That was another easy apology accepted. A _sincere_ apology accepted. Not like the "only given to assuage hard feelings and to move on" kind. Santana felt like throwing up again. What was it about Santana that made Rachel so willing to forgive her? And sincerely? Santana knew as well as everyone else that Rachel held grudges far past the time she pretended she didn’t care anymore.

Santana narrowed her eyes at the having gone back to sorting, mumbling under her breath, petting her hair in embarrassment, girl. Rachel wasn’t reacting like she was supposed to. Sure, she had shrieked and been affected, but it had easily passed. Admirable, in a way, but not what Santana was after.

Padding up to Rachel again, making sure to make it abundantly clear she was coming up _beside_ her and not behind her, Santana adopted her toned down teasing technique. That meant, keeping space between them, she still made sure Rachel got a whiff of her perfume, flirting with having their arms brush against each other. She grinned, seeing Rachel’s eyes dart towards her, the girl leaning away microscopically. “Lookin’ good,” she repeated pointlessly, “See? You didn’t need my help at all.”

“I didn’t _need_ it because you weren’t here to _do_ it,” Rachel sniped, continuing heatedly, “I still don’t know how you didn’t get caught.”

“No one who runs the detentions and doesn’t bother to actually _sit_ in on the detentions cares enough to patrol. In fact, if I hadn’t’ve seen the creepy janitor with the eyepatch down the hall, I would have just gone home. But _nothing’s_ worth seeing that milky eyesore, pun intended, of an eye that’s supposed to be the _good_ one.”

Rachel looked up from the two musical scores she was mentally alphabetizing to show Santana an unimpressed expression. “Then it’s a good thing you stayed, isn’t it?” she drawled sarcastically, then shoved a pack of yet-to-be sorted sheet music at Santana before, she was hoping, she could react. “You are going to help!”

Unsurprisingly though, Santana let the papers drop, watching them spill onto the floor with a bored look on her face.

While Rachel looked ready to blow a gasket, a step away from stamping her foot, Santana had a better idea of how to… well, work her charm next time.

Because, yeah. There would definitely be a next time. 


	10. Chapter 10

"I would like to speak with you," Rachel announced without fanfare two detentions later, striding up to Santana's desk.

Santana looked up from her phone, an eyebrow arching as she took in the younger girl's nervous but polished expression. "I should take time out of my time to entertain you because...?"

"Because," Rachel shifted on her feet, her hands in the sleeves of her cardigan curling the fabric in with her fists; Santana hadn't seen her that unprepared in a while, "I would like to negotiate a halt of your current… Plot against me. While I applaud you for your storied perseverance and cocky confidence, of which you certainly deserve, I must add, and quite…" She cleared her throat, "Effective use of your natural talents in going through the motions of flirting with someone you have no guarantee of effecting - and one you have vocally decried on many occasions to be physically unattractive and unlikeable, no doubt taxing yourself through the act, Sectionals are coming up. Now, I'm hoping I can appeal to your logical side by reminding you that you would do well to also take this time to concentrate on the competition. Though you still have no hopes of winning, I believe - "

Santana stood, clamping her hand over Rachel's mouth. "Jesus fucking hell, Berry," she hissed, "You're lucky there seems to be enough air in this place to support life with you erupting into a hysteria of speaking in tongues, and even  _luckier_ that there's no one else around to hear you. Hell, I'm almost tempted to still kick your ass."

Mumbling under Santana's hand, Rachel blindly reached for her backpack, unzipping and fumbling inside it. With a muffled sound of victory, she pulled out a tupperware container. "Mmmn-ade,  _ugh_ ," she made a face as Santana took her hand back, working her jaw and tongue as if to get them back into working order, then started over again, "I made sugar cookies."

The cheerleader, paused, finally noticing the cookies in Rachel's hand.

"For you."

"...Really? You're serious."

Rachel looked at Santana, furrowing her brows. "...Yes…?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"The cookies, Berry," Santana said, already sounding exhausted with the conversation. "Why the cookies."

"Oh! Yes. It's a peace offering," the smaller girl replied with a bright smile, offering the plate. "In hopes that, again, while appreciated because it is slightly flattering, though still incredibly confusion-inducing, you will halt your attempts at sabotaging me via pseudo romantic and-or sexual intentions and focus on the competition at hand."

Staring at Rachel, Santana suddenly sighed, putting her hand to the side of her forehead. Glancing it off, she looked up, dramatically throwing her arms out, turned, walked a couple of desks over, and sat. While Rachel blinked, the container of cookies trembling slightly in her hands, Santana closed her eyes, leaned forward so her forehead could touch the desktop, and groaned. Loudly. "I don't get you. I really really don't get you." Turning her head to the side, looking at Rachel, Santana grimaced, groaned again, sat up, and plopped her hands down onto the desk, clasping them. "Rainbow Bright. Come here."

"What?"

Santana inclined her head, lips tightening. "Come. Here."

It was so much like her "I said  _stay_ ," from the time in the bathroom that Rachel's heart squeezed, she got slightly shallow breathed, and she shuffled as stately as she could to the seat in front of the other girl. Not knowing what to do with the cookies for the moment, she paused, flicked her eyes up at Santana, looked down at the desk Santana still had her hands clasped on, went back to the cookies, wavered, and finally decided on sliding the cookies onto a desk next to Santana's, then gingerly straddled the chair, thankful she had on leggings as her skirt rode up a little. This was not going in  _any_ way as she had anticipated.

Santana let her eyes run up and down Rachel's exposed thigh - legging covered or not, damn the things her hands could do to the those legs - before straightening up and hardening her gaze. The way Rachel's back went stiff made Santana internally smirk, and the slightest bits of arousal already began to coil in the pit of her stomach.

"You think I'm playing with you?" questioned the Cheerio, and despite how Rachel was feeling, and how Santana was making her feel, the singer could feel herself starting to get annoyed. She huffed.

"Santana, contrary to popular belief, I am not stupid."

"You sure?"

" ** _Santana Lopez_**."

Suddenly the air between them wasn't so light or one sided, and the taller of the two was torn between wanting to bring out Snix, and… she couldn't believe she was thinking this - damn herself for being such a lesbian! - possibly wanting to push Rachel up against the nearest wall for completely different reasons. Her next thought was, that under different circumstances, hearing the girl say her name like that was something she wanted to experience.

Wait. What the  _hell_?

Fuck that. There was something Santana needed to knock out of Rachel -  _now_.

"Norma Jean," she lowered her voice, almost purring dangerously as her emotions still warred within her, pinning Rachel's gaze to hers, "Let me ask that again: you think I'm playing with you?"

Rachel barely kept back a shiver. She managed to not move backwards nor lean closer, as something inside her whispered to her to do. No. This wasn't going as she had expected. It was supposed to be so simple! Her annoyance grew, and she nodded clipply. "I do."

"Why?"

That,  _again_ , wasn't what Rachel expected. But far from shattering the tension into something more comfortable, somehow Santana's inquiry, full of warning and subtext, made Rachel's heart thump again. "Why do I…" Rachel frowned, stopping herself from fidgeting or biting her lip or anything else she wanted to do, "Think you're playing with me?" Really? Santana  _really_ didn't know why she thought she was playing with her?

The smirk on Santana's face was infuriating, and Rachel was fast approaching the realization that she had never felt quite so… out of sorts before. She was getting exceptionally annoyed, for one. Frustrated, for another. And also irritated. And maybe a little- No.  _No_. Annoyed. She was exceptionally annoyed and frustrated and irritated and  _nothing else_. "Santana. I don't know what you're doing. Or trying to do. Or planning to do-"

"Rachel Berry unprepared?"

Rachel glared. " _No._ And  **stop** interrupting me. I spent two hours last night baking these perfect and delicious cookies as a peace offering, hoping to- just- Just  ** _stop_** _trying to get into my head, Santana Lopez_!"

Santana's smirk remained, possibly widening, and she replied calmly, "Sounds like I'm already there, Rainbow Looking-Not-So-Bright."

Suddenly, Rachel stood, slamming her hands on the desktop, catching the Cheerio off-guard.

"My life, and my passions, are not a  _game_ for you to play with, Santana! Nor are my emotions! You may want to win Sectionals for the sake of rubbing it in everyone's face, or for a chance at being in the spotlight, or maybe even to prove to yourself that you're as talented as you act. Either way, all very good reasons, and I  _commend_ you. However, this is  _my future_. To you this is a glee competition. To me? This is my academic future on the line," Rachel spit out, her breaths increasing and face flushing. "And I will not let you, or  _anyone_ , for the sake of silly and obnoxious high school hierarchy get in the way of everything I have spent my  _entire life_  working for. Not again. And certainly not for someone who so easily finds it acceptable to play with me for her own amusement and who has no cares of any lasting consequences."

And just like that, before Santana could wrap her head around anything enough to be angry or insulted, or anything beyond gobsmacked, Rachel was stomping out the door, effectively walking out of detention with no teacher there to stop her. The cookies sat on the desk untouched, and Santana blinked, wondering what in the world had just happened.


	11. Chapter 11

It was a simple look, a simple frown and half-glare that morning before classes that told Santana, more than anything, that Rachel was still upset.

She'd glared at her all Friday long, stately ignoring her for the afternoon's detention, and Santana hadn't had detention during the weekend to see if Rachel would have continued then as well. Seeing her now, she probably would have.

But it's not like Santana cared.

Sectionals was that weekend. Her head was bursting with Troubletones routines. She was mentally running through her lines. It was new and sparkly and different than her Cheerios routines, and she couldn't stop the excitement thrumming through her veins. It was addicting. She hadn't felt entirely like this since when she was preparing to sing Valerie the year before.

"Well don't you look pumped," Ms. Holliday greeted her as she walked into detention. Tapping her pencil against her desk, she leaned back in her chair, smiling conspiratorially. "I heard about The Troubletones. Does it have anything to do with that?"

Shrugging fauxly innocently, hands curled around her backpack straps, Santana couldn't stop herself from grinning back. "You gonna be there?"

The teacher winked. "Wouldn't miss it," she replied. Not a moment later Rachel Berry strode into the classroom, setting her pink roller next to the desk in the corner furthest from both Santana and Ms. Holliday, and proceeded to take out several books without a single word.

Santana watched the smaller girl, then scoffed, rolling her eyes and sitting down in her seat, backpack dropped to the floor next to her. The teacher raised an eyebrow, and Santana just shrugged. "Lilly the Leprechaun has a stick up her butt again. So what?"

Ms. Holliday continued giving Santana a  _look_ , however, and the Cheerio crossed her arms over her chest, glaring back and hissing, "I didn't  _do_ anything." Several more moments of the stand-off, and finally Holly turned to look at Rachel, still studiously working on what appeared to be English, her earphones now in. The blonde woman turned her attention back to Santana. "I won't push, because it's not really any of my business. But whatever it is you 'didn't do', maybe you should apologize for-"

"I am  _not_ apologizing to the gleek freak for shit. She's probably just freaking out because she  _knows_ her little posse's days are numbered, along with her time in the spotlight."

It was almost convincing, except that Santana gave herself away by subtly looking back to Rachel and frowning for a split second. Something was up, and Ms. Holliday had a feeling it had nothing to actually do with Sectionals.

She let it go, though, deciding to see how things played out over the course of the next hour and a half. Knowing Rachel Berry, it wouldn't stay quiet for long - and definitely not when Santana was around to antagonize her.

* * *

Santana made it ten minutes of listening to muffled Diana Ross before she couldn't take it anymore. "Hey, Berry," she called over, glancing blindly at Ms. Holliday so the teacher knew she didn't really give a damn about what she was doing or that she was theoretically "interrupting" detention, "Either turn that shit up or make it so only your Hobbit ears can hear it, kay?"

Rachel glowered at her and went back to reading her book.

"Berry."

Rachel turned the page.

" _Be_ -"

Overt, pointed coughing cut Santana off. "Do I need to remind you you should be  _quiet_  in detention, Santana?" Ms. Holliday raised her eyebrows unamusedly at her, "If you  _must_  speak to Rachel, do it closer to her."

"Oh  _hell_  n-"

"I can easily assign you more detention, Santana."

Growling, glaring at the teacher, Santana finally sighed dramatically, just as dramatically shoved herself up from her desk while gathering her things, and stomped - clacked - over to the seat next to Rachel. "Fucking hell, why do I even care?" she muttered to herself, then, with another glare at Ms. Holliday, Santana tried again. "Berry. Either turn up the music to share with the rest of us, or, better yet, make it so only  _you_  can hear it."

"I highly doubt annoyance with my music is what brought you over here," Rachel modulated, turning another page in her book.

Santana narrowed her eyes at her, but didn't rise to the challenge. "How'd you get detention again?"

Rachel remained stubbornly focused on her book. "I don't believe that is any of your business, Santana."

The Cheerio's eyes narrowed further, any possible amusement of the situation long gone. Because no one  _pretended_ to ignore her, least of all Rachel freaking Berry.

She waited until Ms. Holliday was back to staring at her computer, then swiftly removed Rachel's book from her hands, glaring hard enough to instantly quiet the smaller girl's imminent outburst.

" _Santana_ _Lopez_ ,"hissed Rachel under her breath, pulling out her earphones and pausing her music. "If you could please-"

"After this we are  _talking_ , Kickstand. And if you so much as attempt to weasel your way out of it I will sneak into your room at night while you're all wrapped up cozy like a caterpillar in your pink cocoon of gold stars, steal your granny panties, and practically  _throw_ them at JewFro."

Rachel paled, eyes wide and mouth agape. The threat wasn't quite as intricate as the Lopez threats generally were, and yet equally as effective as ever.

Gaining her bearings back, she attempted an indignant glare. " _Fine_ ," she ground out. "Auditorium. After detention. But if this is some sort of absurd plot to-"

"Shut up and show up."

With that Santana turned around, huffing, and Rachel was met with heated silence. Finally, "I would like my book back," Rachel pointed out.

Snorting, Santana tossed it at her. And, when Rachel unpaused her iPod, shifting away without bothering to fix the volume, Rachel almost swore a smirk flirted under Santana's glare down at her phone.

* * *

"Auditorium," Santana snapped, already striding out of the room before Rachel could look up. Finishing putting her English notebook into her backpack, Rachel rolled her eyes.  _She_ was the one who told Santana to be there. Like she'd forget.

She had to say Santana's insistence to talk to her was surprising. She just didn't know what it  _meant_. Or how willing she was to listen with completely open ears.

Submerged in those thoughts, Rachel flinched when another voice spoke up. "Looking forward to Sectionals?" Ms. Holliday asked, smiling, and Rachel paused in front of her desk.

"I - of course!" Rachel easily stepped into her normal confident countenance, beaming at the older woman. "We have bounced back from losing half of our club, and, though it has been tough, I may even go so far to say maybe we are better off for it. The rest of my teammates have finally knuckled down. Later than I would have liked, but we are at last cohesive."

"I see. I'm very happy to hear that." Ms. Holliday's smile softened, and she leaned forward on her elbows. "You know, Rachel, I've been sensing a lot of tension... lately. If you ever want to talk - about anything - I'd be very happy to listen. It could even be about," she grinned, gently chiding, "Why you seem to have made permanent residence in detention."

Rachel flushed, but straightened up. "I assure you, Ms. Holliday, that won't be an issue. It's now too close to Sectionals to get distracted, and my fellow glee clubbers are getting their act together, therefore eliminating my need to go to extreme measures."

The teacher hummed in thought, but then waved Rachel through, her knowing smile remaining. "Better get out of here, Rachel. I'm told keeping Ms. Lopez waiting is dangerous."

With a hurried nod, the singer tightened her hold on her things and rushed out of the classroom. She slowed her steps as she approached the side doors to the auditorium, taking a moment to steady herself and fix her hair so as not to appear rushed or hurried. Then, entering with her head held high, Rachel cleared her throat. "I'm here, Santana. What do you insist upon speaking to me about?"

When there was no reply, Rachel walked further inside, onto the stage, looking out to the seats and glaring as she found no one present. Just as she was about to stomp her foot and storm out, her vision went black, warm hands over her eyes, and she squeaked.

"Boo," came Santana's voice in her ear, soft and, dare she say, husky.

Rachel leapt away, spinning around on her heel, backpack falling to the stage floor in her frenzy, her fists tightened into little balls. " _Santana_!" she nearly shrieked, both in surprise and outrage. "I told you, I am not here to deal with your petty ploys and pranks - !"

"Berry, shut up," the cheerleader intoned, raising a hand to silence her.

To Rachel's horror, she automatically snapped her mouth shut.

Santana looked considerably more pleased than she had when she left the detention room, and straightened her shoulders a bit. "So here's the deal," she said. "You stay exactly like that, cute and quiet, and I talk. You listen. Nod your head if you understand."

"Sant-"

"I said  _nod_ , Munchkin."

Her jaw tensing, clearly fighting against herself to speak or remain quiet, it took several seconds, but finally Rachel nodded, slowly, as though it physically pained her.

Santana smirked, the expression somehow softer than her usual. "Good girl," the taller girl spoke, pretending not to notice Rachel's sudden redder cheeks. "A few days ago you went batshit crazy and called me a whore."

"I didn't-"

" ** _Rachel_** _."_

 _Snap_ went Rachel's teeth again.

"You totally did. But fine, I get it. Suddenly all this hotness up on you? Hard to handle. And people say all sorts of weird things when turned on beyond reason. So I'mma pretend you didn't say it, and we're gonna start back at square one." Santana took several steps forward, pressing a finger against Rachel's sternum, and with barely a push began walking her backwards. Rachel gasped as she hit the edge of the nearby piano, and the cheerleader cornered her in with her arms on either side of the smaller girl's body. "Now, let Auntie Tana 'splain you a thing, Berrylicious."

Rachel swallowed thickly. This scenario? She had  _not_  come prepared for. At all.

"A coupla days ago, armed with your… Treaty cookies, you trounced in as if you knew what was up. Only, you don't know what's up." Leaning her head in closer, Rachel's eyes darting without her consent to watch as long strands of her hair fell, coming close enough to almost touch Rachel's face, Santana lowered her voice, still smirking. "This isn't about Sectionals. If I wanted to scramble your brain and play a few tricks on you, believe me, you wouldn't even know I was doing it. I wouldn't bother playin' nice."

She pulled back just enough to suddenly slide her fingers up Rachel's forearm, eyes dropping to watch past Rachel's beginning to heave chest.

Rachel swallowed. "Th-this is you playing nice?"

The tip of Santana's tongue dipped out, wetting her lower lip as she smiled at Rachel. "Isn't it?

"After all," she continued, leaning a hairs' breadth closer again, "You're not crying, are you?"

Rachel swallowed again, audibly. Nothing internally was making sense or giving clear signals as to how she should react - what she should do. Part of her was a bit terrified; it was a go-to emotion when it came to being alone with Santana Lopez. But the other part… Santana was… being different. Sort of. Almost a little...  _assuring?_ At least, what was probably Santana's version of that…

She resolutely raised her chin. "I-if I was? Or did? You certainly wouldn't be privy to it, Santana. No one in this school has ever gotten that out of me. Not here." Rachel knew she was on the defense. But it was all she had left, the only thing that kept her alive in this stupid high school save for glee club at its brighter times.

Santana paused, brow furrowing slightly in thought, but eased back into a relaxed, confident look. She took a final step towards Rachel, pressing their bodies completely together, her arms remaining in their place to corner the smaller girl in. And she whispered, humming really, "Sectionals will be here soon, and then it'll go. Whether you or I win…? It won't matter - "

" ** _But it will_**  - "

" _Rachel_ ," the cheerleader said, voice rising just a touch. Rachel slunk in on herself, mouth shut and eyes down. Santana exhaled, then nudged Rachel's chin up with a finger. "It won't matter to  _this_. Because  _this_  has nothing to do with it. And for the record, Santana Lopez beats winners and future starlets. Not scared little girls. So go sing, and practice, and dream your little heart out. Win or lose, Rachel? My… 'brain scrambling' isn't going to stop."

Rachel's mouth moved before her brain could stop her: "Are you sure?"

Santana frowned. "What?"

"Are you sure?" Rachel felt a second wind pressurize in her chest. "This isn't just another ploy to mess with me where you'll drop all interest after the competition?"

Santana's frown deepened, and she glowered at her. "Berry," she dropped her voice even more, moving her hand up so she could cup Rachel's cheek and jaw, thumb stroking along her upper lip, "Why can't you  _listen_  and get  _out_  of your head for  _one second_  so you could actually  _close your mouth_  and  _un-der-stand what I'm saying_? For  _once_?"

Flinching, Rachel fluttered her eyes shut. She couldn't believe what she had to say - but she really really had to, at the very least, get it out. "Maybe I'm too invested?" she whispered.

"Invested…?"

Rachel grit her teeth, raising her voice, "Invested in winning and proving you wrong?"

Santana's fingers traced her jaw. "Oh Berry," her lips rose in a slow, knowing smile, "If only you were better at lying to yourself. I'd  _almost_  believe you."

The smaller girl finally looked away, jaw tight and heart beating wildly. "Please move away now," she said, voice quiet, shaky. To her surprise, Santana did so. Not completely, but enough to no longer be pressed body to body, allowing Rachel some room to breathe.

Lingering for a couple more seconds, Santana drew her hand away from Rachel's cheek and jaw, gliding it down her neck as she did so. Then, taking another step back after a moment of simply studying Rachel's face and flustered, nervous visage, she nodded.

"See you tomorrow, Rachel."

The way her name was said sent shivers up and down Rachel's spine, but by the time she risked opening her eyes, Santana had left the auditorium.

Trembling, not sure if it was from anxiousness or arousal, or a mixture of both, Rachel slipped down to the stage floor, and just as she was letting herself relax a little, her phone buzzed. She jumped with a small screech, juggling her cell for several seconds before managing to unlock it and swipe to the text message she had just received.

It was from Santana. Rachel bit her lip, then took a deep breath before opening it up.

_Maybe im invested 2_


	12. Chapter 12

Santana had no fucking idea what she was doing anymore. _Maybe im invested 2_. Like, what the fuck? What had she been thinking?

Rachel had just been looking so… Santana groaned, leaning back far enough in her chair so she could stare up at the ceiling, lost? Upset? Sure, Santana was never the one to pull punches, but even she had to admit what she’d said, caught up in feeling of having Rachel completely to her own devices, had been unnecessary.

But still. Sending that text? God, it was like someone had reached into her body and laid all of her weak, sensitive _crap_ bare. She didn’t like it. Made her feel uncomfortable.

It was like now Rachel had something to hold over her. She’d almost expected to arrive at school that morning with Rachel having plastered that text everywhere, ruining her game and making her a laughing stock. Except the girl hadn’t and Santana hadn’t seen her all day.

Ugh. That girl had to _stop_ getting into Santana’s head. It was starting to feel like the status quo wasn’t quite so static anymore.

Looking up at the creak of the door, Santana didn’t bother holding back another groan when Miss Giant Eyes walked in. “Pulled the short end of the straw huh, Miss P?”

“Good afternoon, Santana,” Ms. Pillsbury greeted cordially. Making sure the chair and desk were clean, depositing her gloves and wipes in the trash before gingerly sitting down, the redhead nervously clacked a pile of pamphlets down. “Uh, if you have a moment,” she cleared her throat, “There’re a couple of these I think you might like to look at.”

Santana glowered. “No effing way.”

“You don’t even know what it is I’m suggesting.”

“So?” Santana settled in her seat, arms crossed. “I am _not_ wantin’ anymore thinly veiled racist brochures about my ‘spicy Latina anger’.”

At least the counselor had the decency to blush. “I… _Will_ admit I didn’t as carefully vet those particular pamphlets as well as I could have.”

“Ahuh.”

“But these are much better, I assure you! In fact, this one,” Ms. Pillsbury snatched one up, waving it excitedly in the air, “It addresses the adolescent need to flaunt authority, thereby inducing detention. Perhaps if you read this, you might feel less of a need to - ”

Rachel stepped in, both Ms. Pillsbury and Santana’s attention moving to her.

“ - er, stay after school so often.”

Santana raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps you should ask Little Miss Muffet here that question. She practically _lives_ here.”

Rachel blinked owlishly, caught completely off guard by the sudden attention, tightening her grip on her books minutely. “Um… Hello, Ms. Pillsbury. Santana.” She nodded to the cheerleader, but didn’t keep her attention there, instead making her way to the far corner of the room and sitting in a desk in the front row.

Santana watched every move closely, not noticing Ms. Pillsbury subtly picking through her stack of pamphlets, attempting to be casual about it as she set aside several specific ones.

The guidance counselor had been extremely skeptical when Ms. Holliday had stated her theory. But now… just… maybe…

As she watched the two girls’ non-interaction - or, rather, Santana definitely glaring holes into Rachel’s back and the smaller singer squirming under the heat of the Cheerio’s gaze – Ms. Pillsbury was sure she could have cut the tension with a knife.

“So… ladies… I have some new and extremely informative pamphlets that I think you will both find both enlightening and helpful,” Ms. Pillsbury finally spoke up, leaning back in her chair slightly as two pairs of eyes looked over to her. Rachel looked like she hadn’t even heard the counselor, which was strange given the girl’s knack for paying attention almost always to authority figures. Santana, well, she wasn’t surprised by the scoff or the roll of the cheerleader’s eyes.

Pressing on, Ms. Pillsbury forced an optimistic smile, patting the two separate piles she had finished making. “Just take them when you leave today. They’ll be right here.” After a second, she blinked and clarified, “The ones to my right are for you, Rachel. The left, Santana.”

Santana snorted, muttering, “Whatever.” Rachel blankly nodded, and Ms. Pillsbury told herself to remind the girl at the end of detention. All she had to do elsewise was make sure they didn’t accidentally pick each other’s piles up. That would be... Unfortunate.

Back to minding her own business at her desk, preoccupying herself with continuing to stare at Rachel’s back, Santana let out a groan of annoyance when the next wave of late detentioners piled in. She had been getting used to going detention solo with the diva.

And, oh hell. Azimio. Great.

“Lopez!” the boy leered, crashing down into the desk next to her, “In here for licking fur in the locker room again? What? Blondie not putting out anymore so you need to turn the baby Cheerios?”

Santana leveled her glare at him. “Turn them into _what_?” she growled.

Azimio leaned towards her, sneering. “Rug muncher dykes.”

Her nostrils flaring, Santana tried not to rise to the bait. Even if her eye twitched. “Come up with that all yourself?”

Voice flat, but loud enough for everyone to hear, Rachel spoke up before Azimio could get a word in. “Don’t blame Santana for your shortcomings, Azimio,” she said without looking up from her book. “I’m sure getting turned down by every new Cheerio in a single week is heartbreaking, but it’s good that they know they can do better. ...And really, Santana is certainly higher on that list were they to find themselves curious or interested.”

The footballer blinked stupidly for a moment, trying to comprehend what the _loser_ had just said to him. But before he could say a word back, or so much as move out of his chair, Santana locked eyes with him, her glare cold and deadly. “Junior year, Mathewson’s birthday party.” She raised her brow challengingly, and the large boy slowly sank back into his seat, swallowing hard.

Rachel let out the tiniest breath of relief when it seemed that, for now, she would be safe. Possibly even after detention was over, if the terrified look on Azimio’s face was anything to go by. She couldn’t fathom what exactly Santana was holding over the football player’s head, but nothing would surprise her in terms of the power that Santana could wield over the McKinley population. The Latina just had a way with information. All information.

In her own seat, hackles settling after making sure that the idiot was sufficiently cowed for the time being, Santana leaned back and shifted her shoulders, pushing out her chest under her crossed arms a little and smirking quietly to herself.

 _Damn right I’m a better lay, Berry. A better everything._ She was definitely preening internally.

Except, she was also… Rachel had just defended her. Santana hadn’t _needed that_ , at all, because Azimio only had weak insults against her caseloads of blackmail, but… still… The singer went and, again, sorta, put her neck out for the cheerleader. Despite the “hassling” Santana had apparently been doing to her.

Santana glanced over to Rachel, and for the first time all day, Rachel glanced back. The smaller girl bit her lip, _blushed_ , and offered Santana the smallest of smiles before quickly returning her focus to her English Lit book.

It wasn’t much… But maybe, just maybe, being all soft and _mushy_ yesterday had been a _good idea._

At least, Santana thought, settling fully into her chair, prepared to sleep away the rest of detention, it had gotten an honest smile from Rachel. _And_ that ridiculously - and god Santana couldn’t believe she was actually okay with thinking this - _cute_ blush thing.

She needed to make Rachel blush like _that_ more. The flushed and confused virgin thing was sexy as fuck, but this was… different. And it made Santana’s heart squeeze pleasantly.

Fuck.

What the hell was Rachel Berry _doing_ to her?

* * *

When the bell rang, signaling the end of detention, Azimio was the first one out, shoulder checking two of his teammates in his rush. Snorting, feeling smug at his fast departure, Santana rose from her seat, stretching her arms over her head.

Wait for it…

Yup. Rachel, pausing in her sorting of her backpack, was absolutely _failing_ at secretly ogling Santana’s goods. In response, Santana put in an extra twist and lift of her chest. It felt good to her pinched muscles, and there was something about Rachel’s wide-eyed, furtive looks… Oh _fuck_. Santana groaned. That couldn’t have been the smaller girl’s tongue darting out, could it?

Suddenly, Rachel flinched, eyes flying up to meet Santana’s before skittering away, the girl’s cheeks flushed as she snapped her books to her chest. Mumbling something, she hurried past Santana, adamantly avoiding her large, wolfish smirk.

As Santana was trying to figure out if she should vocally call out the hobbit on her actions, Ms. Pillsbury was faster. “Ah! Rachel!” she practically leaped from the desk, grappling madly for Rachel’s designated pile of pamphlets.

Rachel halted. “Uh, Ms. Pillsbury. I…” She glanced at Santana.

“Yes yes, just take these. We can talk about them tomorrow, if you’d like.” Carefully sticking the paraphernalia in between Rachel’s book and her chest, the redhead smiled brightly. “Now, enjoy the rest of your day.

“Ah, Santana! Don’t think you can slip out of here without taking…” Ms. Pillsbury reached behind her, “ _These_ with you, too.”

God, those huge eyes were freaky. Barely catching Rachel’s stilted, “Good evening,” and retreat, Santana glared at the counselor. Snagging her Cheerio jacket before tying it around her waist, she swung her backpack up. “I told you.” She curled her hands around the straps, “No freaking way.”

“Now, now,” Ms. Pillsbury smiled nervously, trying to elicit Santana to take the booklets by sort of… Nudging them towards her, “You don’t even know what they’re about.”

“Let me guess - ‘The Polarizing Effect: How to Make Up For Splitting Your Peer Group’. Or, ‘So You’re a Teenage Lesbian: Why You Should Go Back Into the Closet (Even if You Were Yanked Out of There Before You Were Ready and Still Angry About It) Because It Inconveniences Everyone Else’. Am I close? I’m close, I know it.”

Ms. Pillsbury blinked, frowning in concern. “Santana… My door is always open. Especially given the… less than honest and comfortable way you were outed. But, I assure you, these are neither racist nor homophobic.” The woman smiled reassuringly, and in a burst of what Santana could only describe as pity, the cheerleader took the pamphlets with a roll of her eyes.

“Just stop talking,” she muttered. She barely heard Ms. Pillsbury wish her a good evening before she was out the door, annoyed at being held up and missing out on cornering Rachel. Not that it mattered, since they had detention tomorrow afternoon anyway. And it’s not like she _needed_ to see Rachel. Or had anything to _say_ to her.

 _Whatever_ , she thought, scoffing under her breath. Clearly she was slowly going insane. She needed to go home and get a few orgasms in. Orgasms always helped clear her head.

* * *

Rachel lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling completely lost in thought.

The text kept running around and around in her mind, along with Santana’s smirks, her voice, her _everything._ It was… troubling how her eyes couldn’t stay off the older girl. ...Or her chest…

Rachel blushed, grabbing a pillow and covering her face with it before groaning loudly, the fluff muffling the sound. _This needs to **stop**_ , she thought. But she didn’t _want_ it to stop, was the problem. She _wanted_ Santana’s attention on her. At least, _this_ kind of attention. With her sultry looks, and dark eyes, and pressing her against walls in ways that didn’t make Rachel think a broken nose was imminent.

Did that make her some sort of masochist? Wanting her arch (former arch?) nemesis to… _do_ things to her…?

With a heavy sigh, Rachel threw the pillow back where it came from and randomly grabbed one of the pamphlets Ms. Pillsbury had given her, looking at it.

“ _Falling For Your Former Arch-Nemesis and How to Cope”_

The singer blinked, eyes wide.

That was just… creepy. ...Though possibly very helpful…?

Pushing aside her curiosity, though making a note to at least leaf through the strangely exact informational later, Rachel looked to her clock, then got off the bed, heading downstairs for dinner with her fathers.

* * *

Stretched on her own bed with only her pants left on and her door locked, Santana breathed in and out slowly, recovering from a second self-given orgasm. Her right hand was still idly playing between her legs, and she was too pleased with herself to even care that the star of her imagination had been none other than Rachel Berry herself. Sort of.

It had mostly been Santana _using_ Rachel’s mouth and returning the favor with her fingers, making the diva moan and beg in perfect pitch. But either way it had been hot as fuck, and damn if Santana wasn’t at least a little curious about whether or not she could actually get the smaller girl’s face between her legs. Her mental movie had even included an indignant “ _Santana!”_ as the cheerleader had pushed Rachel to her knees and hiked up her skirt. Of course imaginary Rachel had been totally down for it, her only qualm being the location (the Cheerios’ locker room).

Maybe her next pleasure session would put Rachel in her bed. With silk ties.

“ _Mmph, fuck_ ,” Santana husked, forcing herself to remove her hand and clear her thoughts. “Focus, Lopez.”

She was definitely going to have to continue her current… game. After all, she had already admitted to being _invested_. And it wasn’t like she knew how to do anything half-way…

Smirking, sated, and already letting her mind fill with all sorts of things she could say and do to Rachel at school tomorrow to get the singer flushed and awkward again, Santana fell asleep easily, barely remembering to stumble out of bed long enough to unlock her door before falling back into her bed and passing out.


	13. Chapter 13

It had been a particularly grueling New Directions practice, and Rachel could feel her migraine continue to worsen. While during the practice she'd had to contend with tone-deaf band members - they were in  _band_! how could they be  _tone-deaf_? - and Puck having slacked off learning the choreography he'd  _sworn_  he'd get down if she let him leave early last practice because he had a hot date he couldn't postpone because she was going back to Peru the next day, she now had to deal with the mental anxiety and worry that went along with not being as ready as she'd thought they were.

It was like her head was throbbing with disappointment.

And Santana could  _not_  know.

So, concealing the pain from her face, she was about to enter the normal detention room when someone called her name. "Uhn-uhn, not today," Ms. Holliday strode past her, Rachel falling into line, "Today's another of Principal Figgins'  _special sessions_."

"Okay, that sounds a lot like Santana's comment about organizing a porno movie shoot."

"Santana, huh?" Ms. Holliday smiled, then moved on quickly before Rachel's migraine could do anything else than pulse, "And no, nothing quite so… Titillating. Here." She stopped in front of her makeshift office, turning to Rachel to hand off the large boxes within a box she'd been juggling, "Hold that, would you? Thanks. I just have to duck into…"

Trying to see over her sudden burden and failing miserably, Rachel could only watch dumbly when the teacher reappeared, a stack of what looked to be children's books under her arm.

"Here, let's switch back. That looks a little much for you."

Smiling thankfully, Rachel barely managed not to drop the boxes when Santana's low, teasing voice preceded her walking up behind them, "Yeah, cuz' she's so tiny. Careful, if she gets crushed, I'm sure she won't hesitate to sue."

"Ah, Santana! Good. Emma must have found you." Pushing what she'd just taken from Rachel into Santana's arms, making the girl 'oomph' and bark out, "Hey!", Ms. Holliday relinquished the books she'd taken from her office, smiling at the confused expression Rachel made as she looked at them. "Alright, girls, seeing as you're the only two scheduled for this afternoon's detention, I've been given the orders to utilize you for McKinley High's "Give Back to the Community Project".

Santana grunted. "The  _what_? God, this better not be more mandatory community service. I've already done that shit!"

Rachel looked at her. Santana had already completed her community service hours? As much as Rachel had been helping out at the local old folks homes and orphanages by holding miniature singing performances, she still had well over twenty hours left.

"You know," Ms. Holliday smiled at Santana as she started ushering them down the hall, towards the exit leading to the faculty parking lot, "You're probably right that it is. But that's not my problem. It's yours. I'm just your chauffeur-slash-chaperone for the day."

Cutting Santana immediate retort off, Rachel asked curiously, "Where are we going?"

Ms. Holliday seemed like she was having way too much fun at their expense when she answered cheerily, "Hands On Children Playroom and Kindergarten."

"Oh, that is a fucking  _terrible_ name," Santana muttered.

 _A kindergarten? With unruly, screaming kids?_ Rachel's migraine roared.

Ms. Holliday held the school door open for them, then jogged ahead to lead them past the official vehicles. "Mmhm. I agree with you there."

"Wait," Rachel put herself back into the conversation, "We're taking your car?"

"Well I can't just let you two escape, can I?"

Santana snorted and Rachel sighed. The singer winced almost right after, schooling her features just as fast, but not before Santana caught the reaction. She studied the smaller girl carefully as she handed Ms. Holliday the boxes, eyes narrowed. "Not a fan of little monsters, Berry?" she asked, pointedly raising her voice a bit more than necessary. Rachel winced again, barely noticeable, but the cheerleader was, if nothing else, incredibly observant.

 _Looks like someone has a headache_ , she thought with a slight smirk. That could be all sorts of useful if she played her cards exactly right…

Though… that also brought up the question of  _why_ the diva was currently suffering.

She'd have to do some digging, clearly. But she swore that if it was specifically due to one of the moronic jocks, she was going to send their heads into a locker door. Repeatedly. If they didn't know that she had called  _dibs_ on…  _tormenting_ the diva, then she'd have to make her point clearer.

Actually, she might have to do that anyway. Nothing like a casual reminder about her place in the hierarchy.

By the time the cheerleader was done with her train of thought, they were all in Ms. Holliday's car and driving out of the parking lot. Rachel had her head pressed carefully to the closed window, eyes closed, decidedly ignoring any and every bit of conversation that passed between Santana and Holly throughout the 15 minute ride. She knew Santana was watching her, burning holes into her head and making her heart hammer almost worse than her brain.

When they arrived, she got out of the car slowly, but not  _too_ slowly, and took the stack of books without a fight.

As they walked to the smaller school's doors, Holly casually spoke up. "So… Emma tells me she gave you both gifts?"

Immediately, much to the substitute's delight, Rachel's face went absolutely red. Santana, having not bothered to even glance at them, shrugged.

Though… noting Rachel's blush, the cheerleader thought that she might want to at least peek at them. Maybe. Or at least Rachel's.

Getting tasked with holding the boxes again - sure, they were a little heavy, but it's not like they would have  _actually_  crushed Rachel - Santana grumbled but followed the other two up the set of small steps leading up to the large glass entrance of the kindergarten,  _Hands on Children Playroom and Kindergarten_  splashed along the top with various colored paint handprints liberally applied below. It was pretty ridiculous, but at least… Santana drank in both of Rachel and Ms. Holliday's asses as they ascended, she had a nice view.

When she got to the top, dancing back to dodge the opening door, Santana's first reaction to the sudden onslaught of children screaming and laughing was to wince. Her second was to look at Rachel.

Rachel was pale, what looked like the beginning of a sheen of sweat rising on her forehead. The smaller girl swallowed, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose, then nodded purposefully (if slowly) before following their teacher inside; she stopped to hold the door open for Santana.

"Thanks," Santana offered conversationally, drawling somewhat quieter as a young woman hurried up to meet them, "You look like shit, by the way."

"Thank you, Santana, that was entirely too good of you to say."

Santana shrugged. "I know. I'm a saint. Still," she pursed her lips, trying not to seem as if she  _actually_  cared that much - and since when did Rachel's eyes ever become so hard to look away from? "I only have one question before I go back to ignoring you: did the knuckle-dragging neanderthals who go by the name of jocks at our school do anything that'll require me to remind them who fucking runs the school?"

...It almost sounded like Santana was  _honestly_ concerned.

In her insulting, indirect way, of course. It was just like her to address Rachel's health by way of her own social standing. Rachel managed a hint of a smile to cross her lips before pain battered it away. It was so… Santana.

"No, Santana," she sighed, turning her attention to Ms. Holliday and the other woman, "You still rule McKinley's absurd social hierarchy with an iron fist."

Before Santana could respond, Ms. Holliday turned back to them. "Alright, guys, this is Ms. Monroe. She'll show you to the classroom you'll be reading to today."

"Hi," the woman smiled brightly, holding out her hand to first Rachel, then Santana, "Please, call me Stacie."

"Stacie." Santana looked the woman up and down. She was young, probably a newly graduated teacher, and definitely not bad to look at, either. Yup. Santana was a certified lesbian.

...There  _also_  might have been a part of Santana's brain that was somewhat-very-pretty relieved she could still find other women attractive, as much as she had been staring at Rachel lately.

Stacie was still talking. "...and it's so nice that you came today. Our normal book reader came down with a particularly severe case of botulism."

Rachel looked like she had to bite back vomit. Yeah… Probably wasn't a very nice thing to think about when suffering a headache. "Well," the small girl railed, smiling faintly and shifting the books in her arms, "Glad to be here."

"Yeah," Santana chimed in, "Beats mucking up sludge."

While Ms. Holliday grinned, Stacie looked lost at the comment. "Er… Right." She smiled at them. "Ready to read?"

Rachel mustered another smile as Santana sweetly dug, "Do we have a choice?"

* * *

Rachel could deal with kids one-on-one. Not as a wriggling, eager mass crowding up to her. And definitely not when the ibuprofen she'd guzzled as her last hope an hour earlier was barely putting a damper on her headache.

Suddenly, just as Rachel was about to crack open the first book and employ all of her acting talents to pretend like she  _wasn't_  about to topple over, Santana plucked it from her. "What are you doing? You wanna give the lil' monsters nightmares by looking like an even creepier Crypt Keeper? C'mon," she pulled Rachel up, turning her towards where Ms. Holliday was chilling at a tiny table in the back of the classroom, cutting construction paper into various shapes, "Go scare Miss H. instead. She'd probably be able to handle you."

"I… But…" Rachel looked at the kids staring up at them, then looked cross-eyed at Santana, "I have to read…"

Santana's voice lowered. " _Go_." She pushed at Rachel's lower back, perilously close to her ass, and Rachel's breath hitched, the heat always simmering whenever Santana was near practically overflowing at…  _That tone_.

Barely acknowledging Rachel's almost teary eyed thank you, Santana nodded, taking up the seat Rachel had left, crossed her legs, squared her shoulders, and looked at the book. "Oh come on," she muttered, just audible to Rachel as she made her way through the maze of kids, the cheerleader then clearing her throat and obviously pasting a fake smile on her face as she asked, "Alright, kids. Who here  _really_  wants to hear about The Very Hungry Caterpillar when you could hear about the time I completely  _trashed_  my cheering rival's car and made her life - "

" _Santana_ ," Ms. Holliday interrupted, looking at Santana pointedly. Rachel sat down next to her.

" _Fine_ , fine. The boring bug story it is. Okay!  _Listen up,_ munchkins."

Pushing the low hum of Santana starting to read to the back of her attention - so what if it was much nicer to listen to than babbling, squealing kids? - - and it certainly helped her migraine, too, she could admit, Rachel shifted, trying to get comfortable. "Wow, I haven't been in a chair so low in a long time."

"Tell me about it." Reaching into one of the boxes Santana had brought in, Ms. Holliday pulled out another pair of scissors, handing it to Rachel along with a thick marker and pile of rainbow colored construction paper. "Here. Go ahead and cut out the animal shapes already printed, or turn them over and draw your own. As long as it's not obscene, go for it."

Gazing at the first image, Rachel shrugged, picking up the scissors. There was no harm in cutting out a giraffe. Less brain power needed than trying her hand at drawing. "I'm sure you're glad I'm here to help instead of Santana then, if you're looking for the un-obscene."

Holly smirked. She clipped out a rabbit. "That was very nice of Santana to switch with you."

Were her ears burning? They felt like they were burning. "I have a feeling she was hoping that you wouldn't catch her tainting the children's minds quite as quickly as you did," Rachel replied, focusing on the giraffe and not letting her hands shake.

Ms. Holliday hummed, a small smile on her lips and knowing glint in her eyes. "Or… she was worried about the fact you look like death."

Rachel managed to roll her eyes, despite the pain, and the substitute teacher decided to show her mercy. She really did look terrible.

* * *

"Well! Wasn't that exciting?" They were back in the car an hour and a half later, Holly all smiles, Santana with her arms crossed glaring, and Rachel looking pale and half passed out in the backseat.

"Super exciting. The best," Santana deadpanned, glancing in the rearview mirror at a barely awake Rachel Berry. She frowned without realizing it, making Holly smile softly.

"Worried, Santana?" she asked.

The cheerleader's features were instantly schooled as she looked back to the older woman. "No. If anything it means Sectionals will be a cinch."

"Except you don't want that."

Santana's brows furrowed. " _Excuse me_?"

Holly shrugged, not even blinking as she passed the street back to the school and continued on. "You heard me. You'd be pissed if you won and the New Directions weren't even able to put up a proper fight. Which, well, as far as I can tell, without Rachel at least shoving them around at practice, probably won't happen."

Santana's eyes narrowed. "What do you know…?"

"Nothing that you don't. Oh! Here we are."

Holly pulled up to an ice cream shop, turning off the car and unlocking the doors. "Righto. Consider it a treat for putting up with screaming children for the afternoon."

"Rachel's vegan," Santana said before she could stop herself.

Ms. Holliday smirked, winking at her. "I know. They have vegan gelato. Wake her up, please? I'll wait in the shop." With that she was gone, exiting the car before Santana could get another word in, leaving the cheerleader to rouse the smaller girl.

"...Wha...hssp?" floated from the back, Rachel sounding like she wasn't awake in the slightest.

It was too…  _cute_  ...that it managed to cool the force of Santana's glare on Ms. Holliday's back. Shifting around, taking in the curled up girl, arms under her head and knees slightly bent, the seat belt tight across her hips, Santana couldn't stop the sudden weird, uncomfortable…  _Thump_  of her heart that the sight caused. No no no. Indigestion. In… Preparation for how she was going to justify eating ice cream. And how she'd make sure Sue didn't catch her at it, either.

Rachel's eyelashes fluttered, another almost unintelligible sound leaving her mouth. "...Sn-mhn."

Oh my god. Was that supposed to be her name? Unable to hold back a soft laugh, Santana pulled out her phone. Snapping a picture of the ( _god_ , when did Santana start noticing how  _tiny_  she was?) girl, she thought about how she'd wake her up. While yelling at her might be fun - the girl flinching and rearing up, confused and disorientated - the pale sheen to her skin had  _just_  started receding. And… Santana's fingers twitched. Maybe a… Santana furrowed her brow, cursing herself for going soft at the sight of an ill Rachel...  _Gentler_  approach would be better. After all, she wouldn't want Rachel to go into the ice cream parlor and tell Ms. Holliday Santana caused her migraine to come back - because the girl would  _definitely_  do that.

Sighing, Santana shook her head, unclipped her seatbelt, and hopped out of the car. Walking around to the driver's side and opening the door in front of Rachel's head, Santana looked down at the girl.

... _She really had beautiful hair_ , crossed Santana's mind. Thick and healthy, pretty even with it bunched up under her and like a curtain over her cheek, mixing with her bangs, Santana's mind wandered to how it would feel against her fingers if she reached out and touched it, not wet and under the faucet. How it would feel if she played with it. Or maybe grabbed it in her fist; her fantasies from the night before flickered through her head. Would the singer like it if she pulled it, tangling her hands in it when she went down on Santana, or used it as a lead and anchor when Santana rode her mouth?

Santana closed her eyes, breathing in deeply through her nose. Not. The. Time. Or. Place.

Rachel shifted, murmuring more in her sleep, and Santana decided this needed to be gotten over with before she did something she'd regret and put her plans of seduction back several steps.

Gently, she nudged the smaller girl's shoulder. "Rachel," she spoke, tone low. "Time to wake up. There's vegan ice cream in it for you."

Rachel curled tighter, mumbling something about head and sleep.

With a roll of her eyes, Santana shook her head, nudging her shoulder again. "Berry," she said, a little louder. "Up."

When that didn't work, Santana decided to change tactics and quell her curiosity at the same time.

Just as gently as before, the cheerleader ran her fingers through Rachel's silky hair, lightly scratching her scalp as she did so. In return, Rachel smiled in her half-sleep, moaning under her breath and leaning into Santana's touch. "Mmmn… s'nice…" she mumbled, and Santana was pretty sure her indigestion was getting worse. It was the only explanation for the twist in her stomach and sudden pounding in her heart. But she continued the action, right up until Rachel began to rouse herself, at which point Santana moved her hand back to Rachel's shoulder and shook a little rougher than earlier.

"Get up. I wants up on that ice cream," the cheerleader said in a normal tone, putting a slight edge of annoyance to it.

Rachel's eyes slowly blinked open. She moved around, even more slowly, as though her body was made of lead, and looked around. "..What…? Ice cream?"

Santana huffed impatiently. "Yeah. So hurry up. You're awake, I did my job. See ya inside." She turned and headed into the parlor before she could do something stupid, like scratch Rachel behind her ears or something, though kept her strides just small enough to make sure she heard Rachel actually exiting the car and walking behind her.

Inside, Holly was already sitting at a small table with three chairs, eating a banana split. She grinned as the two students walked in, noting Rachel's somewhat dazed-with-sleep look and Santana's petulant frown. She also pretended that no, she hadn't been watching the whole scene play out via the window she sat by. Not that she had been able to see much detail, but she  _did_  know that Santana hadn't jostled the smaller girl or yelled at all.

Trying to hide a yawn behind the hand she was using to push her hair back into submission, smoothing it down, Rachel kept her eyes averted from Santana, only making sure she wasn't going to walk into her by watching the heels of her boots clack on the floor before her. She felt incredibly half-asleep, her migraine thankfully just a dull throb, and for some reason… She felt warm and a little more embarrassed than she would have for just having had Santana have to wake her up. At least she hadn't been drooling.

She could have sworn someone had been running their hand through her hair. Except. That was ridiculous. Ms. Holliday would never do that, and as much her heart squeezed at the thought, she just couldn't… Really… Accept that Santana did it. So, she decided, it must have been part of her murky dreaming.

At least it hadn't been like the  _other_  dreams about Santana she'd been having.

Santana's heels came to a stop, and Rachel stopped as well, lifting her head to see where they were. The first thing she noticed was Santana resolutely ignoring her, followed by Ms. Holliday's dancing eyes and bright grin. "Ah, Rachel, good. You're awake. Here." Pulling out a ten, she handed it to her, "Ice cream. On me."

"I'm vegan," she responded automatically, "And... Isn't this against school regulations?"

Santana snorted. "Typical."

"What does  _that_  mean?" Rachel retorted, turning her head to look at her.

Shrugging, Santana smirked.

"...It's all right, Rachel," Ms. Holliday brought them back to attention, "I checked. This place has vegan gelato. And, though it's  _technically_  against regulations, don't you remember?" She smiled broadly, "The reason I told you when we went to get tacos?"

Trying to wake up enough to come up with the answer, Rachel squeaked when Santana's hand suddenly wrapped around her forearm. "As much fun as it is watching you act like a goldfish, I wants to gets my ice cream on. The faster we are, the more likely Coach won't show up and punish me," Santana explained, both tugging and pushing Rachel away from the table and towards the counter.

"P-punish you? And, wait. What?"

Sighing dramatically, Santana gave her another push. "Get with the program, Berry, or just give me the Hamilton already. And. Yeah. She's been on a suicide kick lately, and I do  _not_  want to have to do 100 of them."

Rachel's brow furrowed. "Santana! That's  _terrible_. And how would you do more than one?"

Santana stared for a moment, trying to figure out if Rachel was serious or not. When she realized the singer  _was_ , she had to stomp down the urge to pat her head and call her a dumbass. Instead, taking a patient breath of air, she replied, "It's an exercise, Lassie. You run a lot, back and forth, as many times as Coach says."

The smaller girl blushed heavily, eyes going wide in utter embarrassment. "I - I knew that," she stammered, mentally smacking her still slightly sore head into a wall over and over again.

She could not believe she had actually asked such an  _inane_  question.  _I am certifiably stupid today and must go home immediately. Before I say something even more ridiculous._

Her mouth didn't seem to get the message, however. "So wait. Can you really run 100 of them?"

Santana smirked, raising a suggestive brow. "Sure can. Stamina  _for days_ , Sweetberry."

Turning to the counter as they finally reached the front of the line, the Latina didn't give Rachel a chance to speak before ordering a double chocolate ice cream. If she was going to die, she was going to die having eaten something incredibly delicious and against Coach's diet policy.

When it was Rachel's turn, she furrowed her brows, trying to focus on the menu above the counter. It took a moment, but she was able to find the (small) vegan category. "Strawberry gelato, please," she eventually decided upon. She winced slightly. Her migraine was trying to make an unwanted return, and she hoped that the gelato would somehow ease the inevitable.

Less than a minute later both girls were taking their orders, and it was then Rachel realized exactly  _what_ nickname Santana had chosen to call her.

"... _Sweet_ berry…?" she asked herself, confusion marring her features. That… that was… new…

Taking the seat next to Ms. Holliday - telling herself it was  _not_  so Santana would be forced to sit across from her and that it was so she could kind of have some sense of shelter or… Protection from many of the confusing things Santana always did to her - Rachel took a small taste of her gelato. It was fine, not great, the greatest being from that place in New York Kurt had managed to convince her to sneak out of the hotel for, half a block down, that he'd read about on the internet, having practically jumped for joy when he'd heard the address of where they would be staying.

Thinking about that night, the one before the competition and her and Finn's disastrous on-stage kiss, Rachel could feel her migraine take another stab at reacquainting itself with her. That had been idiotic. Unprofessional. Completely a total loss of mental capacity. No wonder they hadn't won! Even if she and Finn couldn't take  _all_  the credit for making them lose at Nationals, she still felt responsible.

And that killed her.

She glanced up at Santana, the cheerleader absentmindedly licking her chocolate ice cream as she and Ms. Holliday talked about something called… Snapchat? Taking another bite of her own gelato, she frowned back down at the table. Now she had Santana and The Troubletones to compete against to regain her and New Directions' honor - - no wonder her head was fighting against her with the added knowledge she probably didn't have enough skill on her team to compete respectably - and especially if they didn't  _try_.

Groaning, Rachel raised her cold gelato-chilled hand to rub her forehead.

And on top of that, even with Santana's scheme she was still trying to figure out, now the older girl was calling her  _sweetberry_?

Something dark and cold bumped into her nose, and Rachel squealed, hands flying out to whack the thing away. " _Santana_!" she castigated, glaring at the laughing girl who was completely not caring that a spoonful of her  _lactose full_ and _decidedly_   _not vegan_ ice cream was now melting on the table between her and Ms. Holliday, "What the - I -  _what_? How could you - how could you even  _think_  that was okay!?"

"Oh,  _relax_ , Manic Panic."

But Rachel didn't relax. In fact, her lower lip trembled.

Santana grabbed for the girl's hand on the table, glaring. "Okay, no.  _No_. Calm the fuck down, take three deep breaths, and  _stop_."

Rachel obeyed, swallowing thickly, both girls seemingly have forgotten about Ms. Holliday next to them.

With an annoyed sigh and a roll of her eyes, Santana took a napkin and, with a certain amount of  _care_ , dabbed the chocolate ice cream off of Rachel's nose. The smaller girl took a few more stuttering breaths, biting her lip, her eyes skittering down and away from the cheerleader's.

"You good now?" Santana asked, voice gruff but her hand still holding Rachel's firmly.

With a nod, Rachel finally let out a steady breath of air, and Santana disconnected their hands.

"So… Everyone ready to head back?"

The girls jumped, Rachel nearly shrieking, and Santana's cheeks tinted the slightest bit of red. Her deep scowl returned, as did the constantly-judgmental glint in her eyes, but Holly wasn't fooled. She clapped her hands, smiling widely, and stood.

The three threw their trash away - Rachel having eaten only a small bit of her gelato and Santana scarfing the rest of her cup down hurriedly - and left, headed back to the car.

To no one's surprise, Rachel curled up in the backseat right after clicking her seatbelt, and before they had even left the parking lot she was out. It also didn't take a detective to notice Santana's attempts at casually looking in the rearview mirror at the singer every couple minutes, scowl deepening every time Rachel winced or groaned under her breath.

"Do you know where Rachel lives?"

" _Wha_  - what?" Santana barely managed to censor her volume, eyes automatically darting to check to see if she'd wakened Rachel.

Ms. Holliday turned to look at her, smiling. "You and Rachel have all your stuff in my car, right? And I know for a fact Rachel got dropped off this morning from one of her dads, so we don't have to worry about leaving a car at the school overnight. So." She pointedly glanced at Rachel through the rearview mirror, "You really want to make her go back to the school and catch a bus? In her condition?"

Santana wanted to shrug and quip something vaguely insulting about not caring about the hobbit, but all she accomplished was a tight grimace before Ms. Holliday nodded firmly.

"Thought so." Holly smirked to herself on the left side of her face so Santana couldn't see it, "So, where does she live?"

"H...ow do you even know I know where she lives?" Santana asked, voice strengthening even as she ended the question blandly.

Ms. Holliday looked at her again. "Santana. Tik Tok. Pukegate? I know  _allll_  about the," she raised her right hand, making quotation signs, "'Trainwreck Extravaganza'."

 _Fucking hell. Whoever told her about that is owed some ass kicking_.

"God dammit." Clearing her throat and crossing her arms, Santana made sure Rachel wasn't up and listening before she muttered reluctantly, "When you get to Main Street, take a left. We need to get on the freeway. It's about ten minutes on that. I'll point out the exit."

 _God dammit_ , she repeated in her head, barely acknowledging Ms. Holliday's thanks.  _What was Rachel Berry_ _ **doing**_ _to her?_

* * *

"...Here. Ugly green shutters and all. You'd think two gay men would have a better feeling for design."

Ms. Holliday smirked. "It's almost as though not every stereotype is applicable. Strange."

Glowering, arms crossed tightly over her chest, Santana huffed.

As she pulled up into the driveway, Holly hummed quietly. She parked, then looked at Santana expectedly. "Well?"

"Well what?" asked Santana, tone petulant.

"Are you going to help her to the front door?"

Gritting her teeth and glaring absolute fire at the substitute teacher, Santana unbuckled her seatbelt without a word, got out, and opened the back door. She grumbled quietly to herself, reaching over a barely awakened Rachel to unbuckle her as well. "Get out. We're at your house," she said tightly.

Blurry-eyed and dazed, Rachel followed Santana's lead easily, stepping out of the car with the cheerleader's help and confusedly holding the taller girl's arm as she was walked/dragged to the front door. The entire five seconds was nothing but Rachel yawning and blinking with heavy eyelids and Santana all but frothing at the mouth as she cursed Ms. Holliday in Spanish.

She rang the doorbell, and then waited.

Then, "What's going on?" asked Rachel, voice quiet and exhausted.

"We dropped you off. I'll get your backpack in a second."

"...Oh… I can get it. Just let me-" She tried moving away, only for Santana's grip to tighten around her waist, hand grasping her hip firmly.

"Stay. Put."

Rachel's brain fried long enough for her father, Hiram, to open the door, his smile quickly turning to a worried frown.

"Rachel? And - Santana, right? Yes. What's wrong? Why are - Oh no, sweetie, do you have a migraine again?"

The moment he had his arms out, his daughter was in them, burying her face against his chest and mumbling something that sounded like a pathetic, "Yes, daddy, and it's terrible."

Hiram ran his hand over her head softly as he smiled to Santana. "Thank you for walking her to the door. Though - Oh, wait. She had detention, didn't she? Was - Never mind. I'll ask her later. Where's her backpack?" he asked.

Santana turned. "Trunk. One sec."

Blinking, though not really in a position to get it himself with a half-asleep daughter in his arms, Hiram could only reply with a small, "Oh, okay then," and moments later Santana was handing the pink roller over to him.

Before the Latina could make her get-away, the tall man asked, "I don't suppose you know what's been causing these, have you? Rachel doesn't always tell us much about school. I just thought since you're one of her friends, maybe you'd know if anything extra stressful has been happening?"

Santana nearly choked, chest going tight. "I- um, no. I mean Sectionals is coming up and- shi- stuff. But that's it."

Hiram frowned, but nodded. "Well, thanks anyway. Have a great evening, Santana. Thanks again."

Santana could only nod, giving a small, awkward wave before turning. She heard the door close behind her, and didn't say a word as she got back in the car.

 _Friend?_ she thought to herself.  _Seriously, Berry…?_ _ **That's**_ _what you tell your dads?_ Though, she guessed, arch-bully wasn't appropriate. Anymore. Mostly. But there was nothing 'friendly' about what Santana wanted to be doing to the girl  _now_. At least, not by her  _dads'_ standards…

"Do I need to drop you off at the school?" Ms. Holliday interrupted her thoughts.

Santana furrowed her brow. "Opposed to what?"

"Dropping you off at your house...? Basically, I'm asking if you care about leaving your car."

"Oh. Nah. I'll grab a ride with Q tomorrow." Santana drummed her hands on the dashboard, smirking, "Take me home, Jeeves." The faster she got home, the faster she could put this fricken' weird day away.

Ms. Holliday rolled her eyes but nodded, smiling as she turned the car back on. "Good. I've always wanted to visit Lima Heights Adjacent; just never had a reason to. You know. To see if it's as you describe it." She winked at Santana. "Just, one thing. Don't ever call me Jeeves again."

Santana smiled arrogantly. "No promises."


	14. Chapter 14

Puck was much better the next day. He'd actually gotten down the choreography, and only  _two_  of their replacement band members were tone deaf. Though her migraine was still lurking, it barely made an impact on her. Getting hours of sleep after soaking in a lavender bath, along with her father bringing home her favorite vegetable soup, had done her a wonder of good. Seeing as it was Thursday, and they still had two days to get everything perfect, Rachel was, relieved to say, as optimistic as she had been the week before.

Now she just had to figure out how she was going to approach Santana. Santana, who had been both helpful and curt, equal parts endearing and frustrating. The girl was an absolute rollercoaster, and only Santana herself seemed to know all the ups and downs of the ride.

**_Smack_ **

"Watch it - oh. 'Sup, Midge?"

Stammering for only a moment, Rachel managed to regain her composure, then realized that Santana had caught her by the arms before she could fall. "Hello, Santana. How has your day been?"

Santana smirked, keeping her hands where they were and guiding Rachel out of the middle of the hallway and nearer the lockers, though not quite against them. "Just  _super_. Troubletones practice was a breeze. We're pretty much perfect and guaranteed to win."

Doing her best to ignore how Santana had her nearly enclosed against the lockers, and how warm her hands felt against her bare arms, Rachel straightened up a bit, raising her chin. "Then by all means, feel free to slack for the next two days. The New Directions shall be working tirelessly to reach perfection absolutely. Not just 'pretty much' perfect."

Bolstered by the confidence Rachel had thankfully regained, Santana chuckled, running her hands slowly up and down Rachel's arms, internally pleased at the slight shiver that moved up through the girl's body. "Yeah? Good to know. Always better to kick you off of a pedestal than just run you into the ground. So much more  _satisfying_."

 _Satisfying_. Rachel held in another shiver. "You're absolutely right, Santana. It  _will_  be satisfying when  _we_  win."

Santana's eyebrow quirked. "We, huh?"

What did Santana mean by that?

Santana traced Rachel's bicep with her thumb. She was looking triumphant, as if she knew exactly what she was doing to Rachel - which she probably did - and even more, what Rachel was thinking. "We both know that without me an' my girls, it's all on  _you_. The rest're like the Pips. Nothing without their Gladys Knight."

"...That sounded awfully like a compliment," Rachel smiled knowingly, not yet daring to back down.

"Did it?" Santana's smirk grew bigger, and her hands trailed down Rachel's arms, fingernails scratching lightly over her wrists before she suddenly lifted them back up, pushing forward with a step to settle them, hot and heavy, on Rachel's waist.

Rachel's breath hitched, and her fingers flexed, catching on the material of Santana's Cheerio jacket. When had Santana moved in that close? "S-Santana?"

" _Shhh_. Just answer the question." Shifting so she better covered Rachel from the rest of the hall, Santana smiled at her, eyes dragging slowly up from Rachel's chest to where they met Rachel's. Her thumbs slipped under Rachel's shirt, and Rachel let out a deep, heavy exhale, having to bite her lip to keep more back.

She… wanted Santana even closer.

_Riiiiiiiiiiiing._

Startled, Rachel's back slammed hard against the lockers, the sound echoing throughout the halls. She winced, cheeks stained red with embarrassment and… well… Clearing her throat and taking a breath, Rachel met Santana's eyes again. "Um… Class is starting soon…" she said, voice lowered, though she wasn't sure why. There was a reluctance in her tone, and neither girl missed it.

Santana let out a long breath of air, tongue flicking across her upper lip. "Yeah. Should probably get to that."

"Yeah…"

Finally, Santana stepped back enough to give Rachel room to move, and they separated fully. Leaning down and kneeling, Rachel picked up her book that had clattered to the floor completely unnoticed by either of them. The sight of Rachel on her knees in front of her sent a rush of arousal straight to Santana's gut, but she pushed it aside, leaning against the locker as the singer stood and looked up at her.

"So… I'll see you tomorrow then. No detention for you this time, to my knowledge. Have a good day, Santana. Break a leg."

Rachel hurried past the cheerleader, and Santana watched her go, eyes all but glued to her ass and legs until Rachel rounded the corner.

She only had study hall for her last period, and Mr. Adams never took attendance until the end of class. At that point he just glanced up and checked everyone as present.

Santana bit her lip, allowing herself to linger longer and let her thoughts go off on their own; they immediately went to Rachel.  _So fucking close… Damn…_ She swore the tips of her fingers were still burning from where they had touched Rachel's skin. And she'd had the diva  _exactly_ where she wanted her.  _…Well…_ _Almost exactly. In my bed would be way better. Mmn… Fuck. Locker room. I gots tension to unwind._

Figuring she had at least 45 minutes before she had to get to the classroom and pretend to have been in study hall the whole time, Santana began walking leisurely to the Cheerio locker rooms. There was a hot, private shower waiting for her, and her imagination knew exactly how and what she wanted to orgasm to.

* * *

It was five minutes into detention, and Santana hadn't come strolling in. Which meant, most likely, the girl  _hadn't_  gotten herself into trouble that day. Rachel couldn't tell if she was happy about that or not. She was… She was…

Groaning, feeling her face heat up again, Rachel buried her head into her book. She could still hear Santana's whisper, feel her hands on her.

How… how far would she have gone? And - _in the hallway_?

Rachel had to bite her lip. She couldn't honestly say she would have stopped Santana. And that? That was scary.

Maybe she  _should_  take up Ms. Pillsbury's open invitation to see her. Maybe  _she'd_  be able to make sense of what was happening. While the counselor wasn't as… effective as Rachel's official therapist, if she went to her, at least there would be a sense of achieving  _something_  Santana specific (as obviously Ms. Pillsbury knew her), even if it would probably be accompanied by the embarrassment that the redheaded woman would know much more about Rachel's feelings for Santana than she did after that time Rachel had dragged Finn in - - which Rachel didn't want to think about, either.

Wait. Ms. Pillsbury. The pamphlets. Had Rachel put them back into her bag? Without Santana around, everyone would ignore her. That made it seem like a decent enough time to pretend to look through them; goodness knows she wouldn't be able to read her English homework with earlier still on her mind.

Pulling her backpack closer, leaning down to better keep the contents away from any possible prying eyes, Rachel eventually found the pamphlets in between her Science textbook and Spanish notebook. As she took them out, her eyes caught the title of the one facing her, and she almost squeaked, slapping the pamphlets to her chest instinctively.

_"_ _Help! Life Keeps Pushing Me Close To the Woman My Ex Lost His Virginity To"_

Her stomach twisting, Rachel hesitantly flipped to the next one.

_"_ _How To Get Through The Day With Confusing New Feelings (For Someone You Used To Hate)"_

Were they  _all_  like that? Rachel flipped through them, eyes getting wider and wider as she went.

Oh no. Not all. She stared at " _Figuring Out Why I Became A Teenage Rebel: How To Stop Getting Detention Needlessly"_. That was… Nice.

Quickly shoving all of the pamphlets back into her backpack except for the last one, Rachel sat back in her chair, suddenly weak. Her mind was racing. Was… Was she that obvious? Were  _they_?

The door opened, Mr. Adams boredly making his way in; already looking done with the day, he sat at the desk, pulled out a tablet and headphones, and actively started ignoring everyone. Watching him for a couple of seconds just to doubly make sure he wasn't going to look up and catch what she was reading - goodness knows no one ever  _actually_  read Ms. Pillsbury's pamphlets! - Rachel took a deep breath, laid the brochure out flat on her desk, and opened it.

A couple of minutes later, Rachel closed it, extremely unimpressed and fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Basically, its message boiled down to:  _Be a good student and never do anything you're not supposed to._  That was as helpful as if it had told her:  _Don't get caught_ , instead.

She sighed. It was probably pointless to look at the others, if they were all as helpful as that one was.

Still… How did Ms. Pillsbury  _know_?

* * *

Santana, normally the first one out of the Cheerios' locker room, found herself lingering as the clock ticked closer and closer to when detention normally let out. Standing at her locker, garbed in sweatpants and a sports bra as she rifled through her available tops, she was halfway pretending she wasn't aware of Brittany's curious look on her back. Finally deciding on a loose, soft, workout pullover, she turned her head from her locker to give the blonde a small smile. "B," she said invitingly.

Brittany instantly smiled back, pulling her own pullover on, tugging her still wet blonde hair out through the collar. "S," she greeted back, taking out her hairbrush, "You're here late."

"Maybe I wanted to spend some time with you?" Santana answered, taking out her own hairbrush.

"S." Brittany looked at her pointedly, "That's sweet, but I know you're lying."

Snorting, Santana smirked. "Girl can try." She concentrated on a particularly nasty tangle, frowning into the air. She wondered if Rachel ever suffered tangles, then immediately shut that down.

"Oh!" Brittany turned on her toes, raising her eyebrows suggestively, "Does this have anything to do with that girl?"

What? "What girl?"

"You know!" Brittany's smile widened, and she practically bounced up and down on her toes, "The one who wanted all up on you last weekend. She was hot. Did you call her?"

Santana blinked, thinking back. ... _Ohh_. Right. The blonde who practically shoved her cleavage in Santana's face when she bent over the CD rack in front of her. Santana had honestly forgotten she'd gotten handed a phone number. "Nah." Shaking her head and closing her locker, bending down to pick up her duffle bag, Santana glanced at the clock in the middle of falling in with Brittany as they left the locker room; she ignored the baby Cheerio members of The Troubletones who were  _still_  trying to wish her a good day - you'd think they'd have learned by now she didn't  _do_  that stuff, "Wasn't feeling it."

" _Santana_. You're  _always_  feeling it."

How right she was. Especially whenever Rachel was around.  _God_ , she still felt like the multiple orgasms she'd given herself during study hall weren't enough. She would have thought that and cheer practice would have cooled down her ardor!

But no. It hadn't.

Didn't.

Trying to formulate a response that would convince her best friend she was perfectly fine and  _not_  being suspicious by not jumping on top of the warm body nearest her… though she was a little confused by that herself, if she was honest… Santana frowned as she noticed they were about to pass the detention room.

As if fate had colluded: "O-oh! Santana, Brittany. H-hello."

Barely managing to stop herself from hitting Santana, again, Rachel looked up at the two Cheerios as the other detention-goers ducked past them, heads down so as not to attract Santana's attention.

Brittany smiled. "Hi, Rachel. Are you going to start wearing leather and dye your hair?"

The singer furrowed her brows. "W-what…? No, I don't intend to. But why - "

"Because you've had a lot of detentions and usually just the Skanks and rebellious youth are in there. ...And Santana. But I think she's usually put down as a rebellious youth."

Santana frowned, looking over to the blonde. "Hey, no. Teachers are idiots, Britt. That's it. Anyway, let's go. I wants coffee."

"Santana, I..."

Both taller girls looked at Rachel in sync, and the girl trailed off, biting her lip as Santana raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Um… Never mind. Have a lovely evening, both of you. I'll just… excuse me." Rachel hurried past them, but slowed when she heard Brittany speak.

"You should totally call that girl."

 _Girl…? Santana's seeing someone…?_ Rachel thought, chest squeezing tightly and jaw tensing. She picked up her pace again, almost not catching Santana's reply.

"Not my type, B. She had like, a major overbite, too. Besides… Already working on someone."

The two cheerleaders were down the other end of the hall then, and Rachel could only glance back, confused.

She didn't really have any context, of course, but… it sounded as though Santana was… turning girls - at least a girl - away? For… someone else…?

But  _who?_

_Wait. It's not… No. Now I am definitely losing it. The stress has officially made its way to my brain and is slowly eating away my sensibility._

The scene earlier in the hall came back to Rachel, though, and the  _text._

 _Was_ she the one that had… dare she say…  _secured_ the attentions of  _Santana Lopez_? Honestly? At least even temporarily?

The thought seemed completely preposterous, if she didn't think too much on it beyond her known norm, yet actually  _made sense_ if she combined all the strange happenings from the past two, even three, weeks.

Finally Rachel began walking, still lost in her thoughts.

The more she actually worked on connecting all the seemingly random actions of Santana towards her, the more they started forming an actual  _picture_. The conclusion being…

Again, Rachel stopped, dead in her tracks, eyes wide and book nearly falling to the tiles.

"Oh my good Barbra," she breathed out. "Santana Lopez is…  _seducing me_."


	15. Interlude

It was the day before Sectionals, and Rachel was fried. She’d managed to get her eight hours of sleep, but her dreams had been full of ever more and more lurid sexual activity involving Santana than she’d had ever since the cheerleader had started appearing in detention. She’d woken up hot and swollen and aching, enough so she’d barely made it into the shower before her hand was between her thighs. Normally she had more self-control; unfortunately, Santana had always been able to sashay her way through. Thank Barbra she still had her ability to place a professional mask on her face in order to make it so she had the opportunity to focus on the upcoming competition.

The competition. Not the competitors.

“God, look at them. Strutting around like they’re all that for making their own glee club. I feel betrayed. Don’t you feel betrayed?”

“What?” Looking up from her locker, lunchbox in her hand, Rachel turned at Kurt’s sharp jerk of his chin to follow his line of sight. She froze, heart immediately thundering in her chest. “...Ohh.” Her hands tightened around her lunch, and she had to manually loosen them before she hurt herself. She mumbled, “I _did_ …”

Kurt kept glaring at the group approaching from the opposite set of doors. “Hmm?”

“Mm, I mean,” Rachel cleared her throat, eyes continually looking and flicking away, the prickle of her ears telling her she was only a couple of seconds away from bursting into a hot blush, “I did. Feel betrayed. And though you obviously know how I feel about my… Ms. Corcoran, and not all of the bad feelings have gone away, I’m… not as angry as I was. In fact, I kind of understand. Them. Not her.”

Kurt raised a curious eyebrow, and Rachel shrugged. “They deserve a chance to, I don’t know… shine. Prove to themselves they can carry the weight.”

“Mmhm… And this change of heart has nothing to do with… say… a certain terrifying Latina. Particularly the one currently looking at you as though she wants to eat you?”

“What?” Rachel squeaked, head snapping over to look at where Santana was now leaning against the lockers, the other Troubletones around her talking amongst themselves. What had only been the beginnings of a blush was now heating up her face entirely, and as their eyes met, Santana winked, throwing Rachel a small, sly smile.

Rachel looked away, catching the flat look Kurt was giving her.

“It’s not-- it’s nothing,” she insisted. “I already figured out that Santana has been trying to psych me out and I confronted her about it.”

The young man didn’t look at all convinced. “Did you now? And I can see that went well. Exactly as planned?”

“Yes.”

“For you or for Santana?”

With a huff, Rachel rolled her eyes, shaking off the lingering effects of Santana’s almost-predatory gaze. “For me. Now then, I need to go to the choir room. Don’t you have a paper to finish before your next class?”

“Oh _Barbra_. I had almost forgotten it entirely. I’ll see you in glee. ...Don’t dig into Schuester's desk again.” Kurt hurried off, leaving Rachel with her thoughts.

She turned her back to Santana stubbornly, taking confident strides down the hall, lunch box in tow as she made her way to the choir room.

If nothing else, it would help clear her thoughts and calm her down. She absolutely _needed_ to be at her best tomorrow, and currently her head wasn’t there at all. The only thing her brain and body seemed to be able to agree on was that Santana Lopez was stunning and sexually appealing- to say the least, and that she definitely wanted… _something_ to happen between them. She just... had no idea as to _what._

* * *

“So we’re fraternizing with the enemy, now?” Quinn asked as a greeting, coming halfway into the choir room before stopping at the piano.

Rachel frowned, making sure to swallow her mouthful of vegan meatloaf before she answered. “Excuse me?”

A smile, not exactly antagonistic, crossed the blonde’s face. “You tell me,” she sat down on the piano bench, arranging her skirt. “I saw that. In the hallway.”

If Quinn had been expecting Rachel to deny and act like she had no idea what she was talking about, she was sorely misgiven. Clenching her jaw momentarily, Rachel dropped her gaze, their music score for Sectionals crinkling in her hand. “I didn’t know you were in the ‘enemy phase’ of your friendship with Santana, again.”

“What? Shouldn’t I be? Rather,” Quinn crossed her arms, eyebrows raising, “Shouldn’t you think that I should be? They openly _defied_ us, Rachel. Defied _you_. But now you’re…” She rolled her eyes, shaking her head - - all with that same smile on her face. “I’m actually very surprised at how in stride you’re taking this.”

Rachel smirked softly. “I’m supposed to throw another diva tantrum and act still personally hurt?”

When Quinn didn’t answer, Rachel straightened in her chair. “You know, I could turn that back on you. I’m sure,” she met Quinn’s eyes before dropping her own, inhaling deeply and exhaling before meeting them again, “It’s also hard for you with your friends and… the adoptive mother of your child doing what they’re doing.”

Hazel eyes narrowed at her, and Rachel braced for a verbal attack.

Except, it didn’t come.

Instead, Quinn relaxed, a strange happy-tense laugh leaving her. “You know, you’re the only one who’s actually dared to talk to me about that? Puck doesn’t count, of course.

“No, thank you.” She smiled warmly. “I like you like this. Tell Santana I approve - not that she needs it or will even acknowledge it.” She studied Rachel for a second, then nodded, “Makes you the much better, less annoying, leader that we need. Goodness knows Schue doesn’t fill that role.” She stood, making overtures to leave.

Shocked, Rachel blinked rapidly. “...If you ever need someone to talk to about… Shelby, I’d be happy to listen,” she called softly.

Quinn stopped, pausing at the door. “I know,” she replied, turned away, then turned back, “You too.”

And Rachel was left alone in the choir room, almost sure that hadn’t happened at all, but feeling like she’d passed a test she hadn’t even known she was taking.


	16. Chapter 16

Rachel sat outside the school on a bench, staring off into the distance as she waited patiently for her father to pick her up. It would still be at least another hour, and truthfully she was very tired and wished she had chosen to actually drive that morning.

All day she had thought of almost nothing but Santana, and it was only by the grace of God and Barbra that she had managed to focus herself on glee rehearsal.

She felt really, really good about their chances. Better than she had all week, and for the first time in awhile Rachel felt they were going into the competition ready to win.

The singer yawned, sighed, and found her thoughts turning to the conversations with Kurt and Quinn over the course of the day.

It was… It was strange to be "called out", so to speak. On her feelings towards Santana - sort of - to her feelings about her… mother. Much less in the span of a couple of hours. And were that not enough, the fact that, well, it had been  _Santana_ so blatantly... almost…  _flirting_ in the halls… right in front of  _Kurt_? It was the first time Santana had seriously paid that sort of attention to her somewhere so knowingly public. It had almost given her enough to courage to…

Shaking her head, Rachel groaned to herself, hands covering her face.

She couldn't believe she had tried talking to Santana yesterday in front of  _Brittany_ of all people.

If there was anyone that was… that had a real chance…

_Bbeeeeeep!_

" ** _Oh Barbra_**!"

A red convertible pulled up, Santana in the driver's seat smirking and tipping her sunglasses down. "Wake up, scrunchy. I'm giving you a ride home."

Rachel, hand clutching her chest, took several seconds to reply. "Santana, Daddy is picking me up in… 50 minutes. But thank you for the offer."

The Latina scoffed, raising her eyebrow and looking down her nose at the girl on the bench. "Yeah, no. Check your voicemail, Patty Cake. Your daddy's gonna be late. You didn't answer your phone so he called my mamí. I don't know why they're friends and when the fuck they regularly started talking on the phone, but I'm giving you a ride home. So gets in."

Stubbornly, Rachel did check her phone.

Only to realize it was dead, and that there was no way to disprove Santana saying that she had missed a call from her daddy.

"Rachel," she heard, head snapping up. "Get. In."

It was…  _that tone_  Santana had been using more frequently, when she  _really_ wanted her way. The same tone that made Rachel's spine shiver and heat jump straight to her core.

Without any say from her head her body moved on its own, grabbing her roller and making her way to the passenger's side, shuffling nervously as she opened the door and sat on the plush looking seats.

Oh god. This was probably real leather.

As though reading her mind, "Chill, Bambi. It's pleather. My family has this  _thing_ about that sort of thing."

Rachel sighed in relief, slowly sitting back and only  _almost_  having a heart-attack when Santana sped out of the school driveway.

A few minutes passed, and Rachel couldn't help herself. "So… This is a different car," she said, loud enough for Santana to hear over the wind.

The Cheerio smirked devilishly, "S'not mine."

" _Santana!"_

Santana's laughter was full and smooth, clear. The sound made Rachel's heart skip a beat, even if it was at her expense. " _Kidding._ It's my uncle's. He lets me borrow it on weekends." The smirk returned. "By the way, I'm staying for dinner. We're going to… chat."

Staring wide-eyed, Rachel felt her jaw loosen as she gaped.

What in the world could Santana  _possibly_ want to  _talk_ about only 19 hours before Sectionals?

* * *

"You know, seeing this place while not intoxicated…" Santana hummed, pulling her sunglasses off and tucking a temple into the neckline of her Cheerio top, surveying the front room, "...It's still as terribly decorated on the inside as I remember. Heh." She smirked. "Matches the outside."

"I know you're not here to pass judgement on the decor, Santana," Rachel said, locking the door behind her. Neither of her parents' cars were in their usual spots outside, which meant they were currently home alone, and she... was not really sure how she felt about that. "Hold on, and I'll plug in my phone and check to see if Dad or Daddy left a note about dinner." ...Since apparently Santana was joining them. Walking past the older girl studying the photograph of the Berry family in front of the Eiffel Tower, Rachel headed towards the kitchen.

"I didn't know you'd been to Paris," Santana called after her, following a couple steps behind. She leaned against the island. "When was that? You look old enough to have developed your Barbra complex already."

Picking up the correct cell charger out of the tree, Rachel plugged her cell in. "Very funny, Santana." She set down her phone to let it charge a little before she attempted to turn it on; pushing her hair behind her ear as she swung on her heel, she rolled her eyes, taking in Santana's smirk. "Though I'm unsure as to what exactly you mean by that," she walked over to the refrigerator, pulling out a new pitcher of iced tea, "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and ask if you meant within high school. Yes. We went freshman year." She held up the pitcher. "Tea?

"Got any lemon?" Santana sauntered over, hands tucked confidently in the pockets of her Cheerios jacket. When Rachel turned to grab two glasses from the cupboard over her, she moved past her, arm barely brushing against Rachel's as she opened the refrigerator for herself.

Hoping her shiver hadn't been noticeable, Rachel still gave herself a couple extra seconds to make it seem like Santana's close proximity wasn't affecting her. "If you meant the actual fruit to cut into slices to put into our drinks, yes."

She turned, eyes darting from Santana's backside up to the back of her head as the girl mumbled to herself about 'crazy vegan monstrosities' and, when she opened the second door, ' _meat_!' "You have a separate refrigerator for normal food and rabbit food? Where's the freezer?"

"The drawer under the two," Rachel pointed out, "But I don't know why you're looking. It's not like we should have any ice cream before dinner. And, yes." She stepped forward, shutting the refrigerator door when Santana abandoned it to dive into the freezer, "What better way to keep my food uncontaminated?"

"God your dads must be crazy to humor you," Santana muttered. Pulling out one of LeRoy's fudgesicles, she smirked, opening it before Rachel could stop her. "Speak for yourself," she stuck it into her mouth, the rest of her thought finished muffled around it, "Any time is good for ice cream."

"Must you? Really?"

"You're just upset it's not so easy for you because you're a food Nazi." Santana winked.

Closing her eyes and shaking her head, Rachel inhaled through her nose. She held up her hands. "There are many, many things wrong about that statement. First, those are coconut milk fudgesicles. They  _are_  vegan."

Frowning, Santana took the ice cream from her mouth, studying it.

"Second, food Nazi makes no sense. Never have I ever  _forced_  my eating habits on anyone else. I just suggest and advocate. Strongly."

Santana rolled her eyes.

"And thirdly," turning back to where the iced tea was waiting, already sweating in the warm air in the kitchen, Rachel pulled the glasses closer in preparation to pour, "Please refrain from mentioning Nazis and myself in the same sentence. In  _any_ context. It's insulting and dishonorable to my grandparents."

Something cold and hard slapped against the back of her neck, only barely protected by her hair. Squealing, Rachel zipped around, hands fumbling to grab the second fudgesicle Santana had just thrown at her. " _What_  is your penchant for hitting me with ice cream?"

Santana laughed, ignoring the question. "You're eating that with me."

"No, I'm not." Taking a step towards the freezer, Rachel stopped when Santana cut her off.

"Come on. You can't tell me we're having dinner within the next…" Santana glanced at the clock above the oven, "Hour or hour and a half." She crossed her arms. Her half-finished fudgesicle - when had Santana had the time to eat that much? - played in her fingers "Your dads aren't even home yet. It's barely even an acceptable dinner time!"

The fudgesicle was starting to melt in her hand. She could feel it in the paper wrapper. Rachel shifted, annoyed. "While it's true dinner won't be for a while,  _this_ ," she tried to shove the ice cream at Santana, who didn't move, calmly watching Rachel push it against her arms, "Is not what I would choose as a healthy, satisfying after school snack."

Santana raised her eyebrows. "What would be?"

"Pita chips and hummus. Or a nice fruit plate with Ritz crackers on the side. Honestly, Santana, please let me put this back before it melts beyond repair."

Santana chuckled, pressing closer to Rachel and uncrossing her arms; tossing her half-finished popsicle onto a plate on the counter waiting to get rinsed, she took the ice cream from the girl and unwrapped it, eyes on the smaller girl, her smirk absolutely devious.

Rachel inhaled sharply, and Santana pressed the tip to her lips. "Lick, Berry. There are only four left in a box of ten and I know your dads don't like sweets. I know yous likes these."

Stubbornly the diva kept her lips closed tightly, breathing harshly through her nose as her body refused to move an inch, eyes wide. The cheerleader drew the tip over her lips slowly. "Lick. It."

In a flash, Rachel bit down hard, swallowing a piece whole, and Santana stared dumbly.

They looked at each other for several seconds until Rachel winced and her hand shot to her temple. "Oh god. Brain freeze. Oh my god."

The kitchen filled with Santana's laughter and Rachel's pained mumbling.

After a few moments Santana calmed and took pity on the girl, taking Rachel's head in her hands and softly rubbing her temples, still smirking in utter amusement.

"Ohh… okay… that feels really good…" mumbled Rachel.

The Cheerio bit back another laugh, letting her hands fall to Rachel's hips. Both popsicles now melting on the plate on the counter went completely ignored.

Santana's touch made Rachel jump a little, though, seeming to snap some sense into her. "W-what are you doing?  _We_ doing?" she asked, and Santana paused, staring down at the smaller girl, eyes still smoldering.

"I told you," she husked. "We're going to talk."

Did Santana's  _talking_  always look like seducing? Rachel whimpered.

Trailing her finger down Rachel's neck, Santana leaned in, whispering right in her ear. "Later, though. When your daddies are downstairs watching their late night talk show shit."

Without another word, just her hand trailing across Rachel's hip, Santana left the kitchen, stalking her way up the stairs and calling back, "I'll be in your room, Toto."

It took a moment for Rachel to realize what the older girl had said, "My…  ** _Santana Lopez don't you_** \- you didn't even finish the - and the iced -  ** _get back here_** -!"

* * *

Santana Lopez was sitting on Rachel's bed, flipping through the Playbill Magazine Rachel had received earlier that week. Though it was better than rifling through her closet or underwear drawer, it still elicited a visceral reaction. Rachel stopped and stared, her breath socking out of her chest. "Why… Are you on my bed?" she muddled out, clearing her throat.

"We both know you want me here," Santana answered without looking up from the magazine. Tilting her head, she peered at an image of Puck from A Midsummer Night's Dream, lips curving up. "Hell, is there anyone who  _wouldn't_  want me on their bed?" Before Rachel could respond, she lifted a finger, finally looking up at Rachel with twinkling eyes, "Elton John Liberace gayest of gay men and asexuals not included."

Rachel, edging her way inside and panicking for a couple of seconds before deciding only softly closing the door wasn't as bad as closing it all the way and as weak as keeping it open, couldn't help from studying Santana with surprise. "That's… Awfully progressive you."

Santana shrugged, eyebrows up, lips pursed. "Snix gotta learn too. Makes quips better when I know what the hell I'm talking about. Anyway." She tossed the magazine aside. Placing her hands palm down on the bed, she looked at Rachel from under her eyelashes. "Spill it, Boo Berry. Porn under the pillow? Mattress? In your dresser? Or in a shoebox under the bed?"

Spluttering, Rachel darted forward to snatch the Playbill away, straightening and smoothing it out before placing it safely on her desk. "There  _is_ no porn, and I'm insulted you'd think so."

"Everyone has porn. Those who don't, act in it."

That was a rather…  _interesting_  thought. Shaking her head, Rachel turned, hands placed on her hips. "Well, I do not  _own_  any  _nor_  act in any."

Santana smirked. Rachel was standing there like if she posed in a stance of disapproval long enough, Santana would believe her through sheer intent. Her eyes skirted around the girl's room, trying to pick up hints, and landed on an open, active, laptop.

Rachel didn't realize what she had spotted until it was too late, and Santana was lunging for the desk and chair before the younger girl could blink.

" _Santana_!" shrieked Rachel, throwing herself between the desk and the Cheerio.

They collided, hitting the floor with Rachel's limbs flailing and Santana's more fall-trained body wrapping around the girl and twisting them just enough for Rachel to avoid hitting her head.

Santana's heart jumped as her adrenaline slowed and she realized that Rachel had clung onto her as they hit the floor, eyes still clamped shut in her momentary panic.

"Whoops," was all Santana said, voice low and husky, a smirk tracing over her lips as she took in their position.

Whoops indeed…

Rachel slowly opened her eyes, and froze, eyes like saucers and mouth agape in shock and a new kind of panic. She made a sudden jerk, as though to put space between them, and Santana wrapped her arms and legs around the girl and shifted her hips, rolling Rachel under her and sitting up just above her hips to avoid being bucked off, hands on either side of the girl's head.

"S-Santana. What in the- What are you even…" Rachel trailed off as Santana continued to look down at her, eyes hooded and an all-too familiar, too sexy, smirk still on her features.

Santana was perfectly content with this turn of events.

So much better than finding porn, and all according to any plan she could have had when she had jumped on the chance to be alone with Rachel for the course of the evening. At the time she hadn't given any thought of what she would actually  _do_ , but now… well… she had all  _sorts_ of ideas.

A small, nervous squeak, and Santana mentally shook off the haze of arousal clouding her thoughts enough to notice that, no, Rachel wasn't quite ready for the things she wanted to do to the singer. On the bed next to them. Maybe with some silk ties.

 _Fuck_ , she thought, heat throbbing in her core.  _Get it together, Lopez. Focus._ The cheerleader knew she'd have to approach those ideas at a later time. Currently Rachel just looked torn between making a run for it or hiding  _under_ the bed. Totes not conducive to her plans of seduction.

She raised her index finger and tapped Rachel's nose. "Be careful next time, Sugarberry. I hear munchkins are accident prone."

Then she was up and off the still flabbergasted vocalist, sitting back on the bed and crossing her legs, raising an amused eyebrow as Rachel slowly sat up and took a few breaths to calm herself.

There was quiet for several moments, until finally, still on the floor and tucking her legs under her, Rachel asked quietly, "What are you doing, Santana?"

Her tone caught Santana off-guard. It was curious, but with a hint of… almost  _dejection_.

Also totes not part of her seduction plans.

"Sitting on your bed, obviously," replied Santana, keeping her voice light, trying to break up the sudden heaviness that had settled over the room.

Rachel bit her lip and looked up at the other girl, who had to push back the multiple images that Rachel on the floor at her feet brought. "Stop acting like you don't know exactly what you're doing. You always have  _some_ sort of plan going. Some kind of plot, or scheme. And usually I pride myself in figuring it out quickly." Rachel went on after a moment, quick enough to not let Santana get a word in, "At first I thought it was to psych me out. Then I thought maybe it was a ploy to make me give up all of my best and most flawless performance ideas and secrets."

Santana snorted at that, rolling her eyes, but Rachel pushed on. "But  _now_ , I don't know. And when I think  _maybe_ one action means something, you do something completely different."

Dropping her head, Santana nodded, breathing in through her nose. Her intent not to make light of what Rachel was saying, she sighed, met her gaze, and asked, "Haven't we already gone over this?"

Something in Rachel's eyes flickered. "Maybe, but I still want to talk about it again."

"Mmkay." Santana sat up. "Basically, right now, you're asking me again if I'm playing you, right? Or that I'm here to spy? Which, by the way, is a  _totally_  badass and good suspicion to have and I applaud you for it. I'd be suspicious of myself, too." She raised her hands, gesturing at herself, "'Cuz the lead of the rival glee club showing up at your door the night before the big competition? Teen movie, much?

"Only," Santana slid forward, uncrossing her legs so she could more directly look at Rachel, "That's not what's happening. That would be lame. My style of psyching someone out normally involves money and blackmail, okay?"

Rachel continued watching her.

Narrowing her eyes, Santana huffed. "Okay, like, either get your ass up here or sits down on the desk chair. I can'ts have this conversation when you're looking up at me like a wounded animal. So not sexy."  _Not entirely_ … She crossed her arms, waiting for Rachel to comply. Or at least  _move_.

Blinking, Rachel looked away, her hand picking at her skirt.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Well," she sighed, shifting and rolling, leaning back so she was lying down with her arms under her head, staring up at Rachel's ceiling, "Whenever you're ready."

...Fuck. The bed was comfortable and smelled  _amazing_. She wondered how far Rachel could see up her Cheerio skirt, and entertained the idea of shifting so more of her legs would be visible. Only… She frowned, exhaling through her nose, she knew it would be better to clear things up with Rachel as soon as she could before she tried any more of that. Be much more pleasurable once she did.

Except…

Hell, why was she even there? Shouldn't she be at home, working on the Troubletones routine? Shouldn't  _Rachel_  be working on  _her_  routine?

...Either way, now she knew how it felt to have Rachel under her.

Santana opened her eyes when Rachel moved, weight pushing down on the mattress next to her signaling the other girl was getting onto the bed next to her.

"Thank you for keeping your shoes off," Rachel murmured.

Santana mmhmmed. She turned her head to see Rachel scooting up to lie down so their heads were even with each other, and had to bite back the impulse to see how much space was left in between their feet.

The girl was purposefully keeping their bodies apart. Santana smiled to herself; a perfectly good, large bed. "Would you look at that," she lilted, "Now we're on the bed together."

Rachel actually laughed a little, then cleared her throat. "So… You were saying?"

Rolling to her side to look at Rachel and propping herself up on her arm, Santana walked her free hand over to her, smirking softly as the singer's body went perfectly still, neither moving towards nor away from Santana's idly searching fingers that now moved across her covered abdomen. "You think I'm messing with you. I'm not. Simple as that."

The smaller girl frowned. "But… No… Because that would mean that… I mean… You would be… Are…"

" _Flirting_ with you?"

It was the first time Santana had said it out loud, and to her own surprise it wasn't nearly as weird and freaky as she thought it would be. In fact, it was sort of… almost a relief to just be out with it. Not that she hadn't already settled the whole thing with herself, but she hadn't actually admitted it  _out loud._

She watched as Rachel struggled to comprehend her words, and couldn't really blame the girl. Though really, on the other hand, Santana was sure she'd been pretty fucking obvious about at least half of her intentions.

"Oh my god…" whispered Rachel suddenly, catching Santana's full attention again. "You're… actually…  _interested in me_." The sheer amount of disbelief and awe had Santana using every bit of willpower in her body to not laugh ridiculously loudly.

Santana watched herself brush her thumb softly over Rachel's stomach. "You could phrase it that way," she shrugged, smiling, still trying to keep back her laughter. That was far more innocent than she'd put it.

Rachel's eyes were dark and wide and flickering as they darted all over Santana's face, as if they were having trouble focusing with what she was hearing. Redness rose on her cheeks. "How would, uhm," she straightened herself, half-coughing into sounding more confident, "How would you put it?"

"Mm-uhn. You're someone I actually wouldn't mind seeing  _more_ of." Her inflection was, somehow, innocent enough that it wasn't 100% talking about her body.

Rachel blinked a few times, a small frown on her face. "What does that even… Santana, at this rate, with the amount of detention time we've spent together, coupled with the time with me you've managed to weasel into making despite my extremely precise and punctual schedule, I'm pretty sure neither of us has actually spent more time with  _anyone else_."

Rolling her eyes, Santana poked Rachel in the rib. "Cute. But if I has to spell it out for you…"

"I think I deserve that much," interrupted the singer.

Santana paused, looking thoughtful, then sighed, relenting much easier than either of them had really expected. "Think of it this way," she lowered her voice, sliding her palm up and down Rachel's abdomen, "I've already seen you at your worst, and I  _still_  wants up on you." She shrugged, smirking lightly, "I can handle you."

"That's not very complimentary. Or attractive." Rachel frowned, shifting so she could roll over onto her own side to better face Santana, Santana's hand falling to the mattress before she retracted it back, "That makes me sound like a burden. Or, or someone who needs someone else to, well, 'control' them."

Santana's eyes darkened, but she blinked it away. "Not  _exactly_  what I meant, but, wanky. No." Cutting Rachel off, raising an eyebrow to stop the burgeoning protest she could see on her face, Santana reached out, brushing the back of her knuckles along the other girl's thin shoulder before twisting her wrist to softly thread her fingers through her hair, stroking up towards her bangs. "Tell me honestly - how did your past relationships go when it came to you? You  _can't_  tell me Finn or Puck knew what to do with your confident 'Rachel Barbra Berry' self. Or, hell, would have even  _known_  what to do if they actually got under the argyle and fetish skirts."

 _They might have in time_ , Rachel thought, but couldn't get behind the idea enough to actually verbalize it. She remained silent instead, too stubborn to say that Santana was at least a little bit accurate, as well as partially annoyed at the jab at her fashion sense. Besides, she had always just… thought that her and her partner would learn together. They'd have hiccups, maybe, and some less than stellar attempts, but they'd grow, and become better, closer. And it wasn't like she wouldn't have done enough research to cover whatever Finn or Puck or even Jesse was lacking in. Google was very forthright about tips and advice, after all.

Noting the varied emotions crossing Rachel's face, Santana was amused by the way every emotion under the sun seemed to be used. She continued to gently run her fingers through the younger girl's hair, playing with her bangs as she started again, cutting off Rachel's internal monologue. "You're a complete diva 45% of the time, insanely competitive 50% of the time, and everything else is packed into that last 5%, which makes you a fucking rollercoaster of  _charm_ and utter  _annoyance_. Been there, seen that."

"Is there actually a point to that math or-"

Santana tugged lightly on Rachel's hair, almost in some kind of warning, and Rachel snapped her mouth shut despite herself.

"As  _I was saying_ , you're sorta a hot mess. But also just  _hot_. And I totes get down with another chick willing to stab their best friend to get where they want. I feel that deep in my soul on a religious level." Santana leaned in closer, her hand softly gliding over Rachel's cheek and resting on the side of the girl's neck, holding her gaze. "The point,  _Rachel_ , is that I'm not self-conscious and useless enough to be intimidated or freaked out or turned off by your crazy ass and everything that I've seen of you." She moved in closer again until their lips were mere inches away and Rachel was trembling, breaths harsh in the still room, a blush working its way down her cheeks, to her neck, and to her chest. "Freakishly enough, it somehow makes you  _insanely_ attractive.  _Sexy_ , even."

This was it, Rachel thought. She had either died, or was going to, because Santana was about to kiss her, for real, on her bed, bodies pressed close after having just given her one of the strangest and somehow most honest confessions she had ever heard in her life. And maybe it wasn't so much a confession as it was a frank divulgence of sexual intent, which was practically Santana just… being Santana. And maybe she should take a moment to figure out how she actually thought of what was happening or how she felt about it.

But that was- and this was-

She closed her eyes, whimpering in a decidedly  _needy_ way, and-

"Rachel! We're home! Are you and Santana hungry? We brought Chinese!"

With a shrill cry of surprise Rachel practically flew off the bed, hand on her chest and heart hammering. Gathering up all of her greatest acting abilities, she managed to call back downstairs "We'll be right down, Daddy!" nearly perfectly despite still looking like a panicked sheep - in Santana's opinion.

For her part, though startled, Santana was mostly frustrated.

She had totally just been cockblocked by two gay men.

_God- fucking-_

She sat up, huffing and scowling, nostrils flaring in agitation as her built up arousal became sexual frustration.

Rachel looked up at her wearily, slowly standing up and biting her lip, not sure if the moment was completely broken and Santana was suddenly going to 180°, laugh everything off as cruel joke.

Seeming to notice the other girl's anxiousness and reminding herself that, no, taking out her anger on Rachel was  _definitely_ off the list of allowable things, Santana stood.

She approached Rachel without the slightest hint of hesitation, cupped the smaller girl's hips, and pecked her on the nose, murmuring a quiet, "Rain check. Don't think too much."

Another peck on Rachel's cheek, and Santana separated from her. Making her way to the door, she looked back to a blushing, dumbstruck Rachel, winked, and headed out of the room and downstairs moments later, a smile for the Berry Fathers already fixed on her face.

* * *

Later that evening, Santana and Rachel stood on the Berry porch, looking at each other. When Santana stepped closer, Rachel laughed under her breath before giving in, murmuring a quiet, nervous, "I'm going to hug you now." The resulting embrace was slow, lingering, Rachel's heart hammering against Santana's chest, her head tucked into the cheerleader's neck. The older girl's arms held her snugly, a low, appreciative exhale leaving her mouth before trailing off into a soft chuckle. "If I thought you were ready and not liable to suddenly erupt into pre-competition jitters in protest, quite possibly in the process causing my untimely and horrible demise, I'd give you something  _guaranteed_ to make you forget  _everything_  that has to do with singing."

Rachel allowed another small laugh, a blush, and darted forward to gently brush her lips along Santana's cheek. The look she got in response seared into her so completely that that night, when she was lying in her bed with her hands clasped over her stomach and eyes closed in a pitiful attempt to quiet her mind to allow sleep to come, it took all of her compartmentalizing skills to keep thinking about Sectionals. Because Sectionals was most important right then. If what she and Santana might be - possibly - she didn't know how she actually felt about it - it was like her overwhelming dreams were coming to life - and - -  _she wasn't even sure if she'd agreed with it_  - thinking about exploring was real… then it could wait.

Starting to mouth her and everyone else's lyrics, easing into only repeating inside her head, Rachel definitely did  _not_  think about what Santana was possibly up to, or… Her eyes suddenly flew open.  _Oh Barbra_. It was almost like she was living a real life West Side Story. She was… Oh goodness. Really? She was  _Maria_!

Santana, across town with her nightly routine entailing an extensive moisturizer regimen before falling into bed smelling of coconut shea butter, thought about how amazing Rachel and her bed had smelled as she pulled her covers over herself. Lacing her fingers over her stomach and smiling up at the glowing stars on her ceiling left over from one of her and Britt's earliest sleepovers, she exhaled before rolling over to check her phone. Making sure Quinn was on board to make a special note about Rachel (and by proxy, the glee club, annoyingly) being off limits during the next day's competition, she smirked, markedly ignoring the dry, suggestive comment from her partner in crime. It went under things not up for discussion for having nothing to do with them ruling the school, so, shrugging and ignoring the blonde, Santana tossed the phone down again, turning back up towards the ceiling.

Rachel had kissed her. Kind of. And not run screaming away, which spoke to Rachel having a similar attraction for her like Santana did. At least, the younger girl had  _definitely_ looked into Santana getting closer to her. And  _fuck_  how she'd  _felt_  under her hands, too… Not a bad thing to think about in the back of her head while going over her choreography, Santana thought. Not a bad thing at all.


	17. Chapter 17

“Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in… Breathe out.” Rachel repeated the mantra to herself in the green room several times over until finally she felt fully in control and absolutely clear-headed. A difficult task when all of her dreams last night had involved Santana doing everything from kissing her to… well… _kissing_ her.

Kurt sat off to the side, watching her flutter and murmur to herself, all the while noting that every so often Rachel’s mask would slip slightly and an absolutely _giggly_ sort of grin would flash across her features. It had to be because of something involving Santana, he knew. _Everything_ involved Santana by this point.

There was a knock on the door before it opened wide, and all of the New Directions turned at once to see Sugar, Santana, Mercedes, and Brittany stride in, the backup Cheerios behind them remaining outside of the room.

Santana and Mercedes stood at the front of the posse, arms crossed and both wearing matching smirks, confidence rolling off them and a certain air of… dare Rachel say, superiority radiating off them as well.

Immediately Rachel stepped up, the New Directions gathering behind her and Finn at her side. The two groups squared off, and Santana spoke first.

“Suits and ties? Nice. Should have worn black, though. This _is_ your funeral, you know.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Petty,” she said, straightening up. “I’d say you’re all dressed to impress, but that’s about all you’ll be doing. We’re taking this, hands down, our banner of ‘underdogs’ and all.”

That brought a small smile to Santana’s lips, just before it vanished into her arrogant smirk, and she looked Rachel up and down under the guise of scoping out what they were up against. Really she was more interested in being _against_ Rachel in a completely different way. But first things first.

Her leering went largely unnoticed by everyone save Rachel and Quinn; the former clearing her throat to cover a small smile and the latter rolling her eyes _hard_.

“Listen,” Mercedes said, “We all still friends, so however this goes down, though we know how you’re all going down, it shouldn’t get between us. Even if it will prove who and where the real stars are.”

Before anyone could get off any of their threatening rejoiners however, Quinn broke in with, “Alright, if everyone has voiced their opinions,” calmer than any of them had expected. Especially Rachel, given a conversation they had shared only 30 minutes prior. “We have a competition to win. And _you_ have a second place to secure. Which will be happening in about… 20 minutes or so.”

Realizing that Quinn was right - about how soon they had to be on stage at least - The Troubletones departed, but not without Santana looking back at Rachel and giving her a quick wink. The New Directions were all too busy amping themselves up and finishing up their preparations to notice, but Rachel caught it, and couldn’t help but clutch her hands to her chest and fight back a smile, heat blooming in her lower stomach.

Two more hours, she thought. Two more hours and she could finally focus on all these feeling and possibilities.

But right now, she had a glee club competition to win.

* * *

Gathered in the wings with the rest of New Directions milling behind their captain, not yet ready to start concentrating on the stage, Rachel wasn’t able to stop herself from squeaking before slapping her hand over her mouth at the same time she turned towards Santana.

Santana smirked at her, leaning in to whisper, “You make it way too easy.”

Rachel glowered at her, glancing quickly behind Santana where the other Troubletones were in various states of stretching and preparing themselves, then over her shoulder to see if anyone from New Directions was paying attention. They weren’t, so Rachel allowed herself to minusculely relax. “I don’t appreciate you poking me, you know,” she said in a hushed tone, knowing it was useless to even hope Santana would listen. “Why are you here, anyway? Didn’t you already fulfill your pre-show taunting?”

It was adorable how badly Rachel was hiding her looks at Santana’s body. Very much better at it, Santana took her own second purview of Rachel.

“I did,” husked Santana, sidling up closer to the smaller girl. “But I forgot something.”

Rachel inhaled sharply, heart fluttering at the look in Santana’s eyes, the lilt in her voice. “And that would be…?”

Before she could react, Santana leaned in and pecked her lightly on the nose. “For good luck,” the Latina replied softly, and Rachel felt herself swoon internally. She managed to gather herself up, though, just enough to retort with a teasing, “For you, or for me?”

Santana just smiled, making her way to back to The Troubletones who were now lined up ready to go on. “Guess we’ll find out,” she said with a last glance back and nod to Rachel.

Then Rachel was alone with her team, pushing the warmth in her chest away and once again reminding herself that everything else had to wait until later.

* * *

They had won. After all the weeks of detention and stress and feelings initially of betrayal that turned into healthy rivalry (not to mention - _oh goodness_! - a healthy something _else_ ), it had all paid off.

To be brutally honest, Rachel had no idea how her club members would have fared without her because, as everyone knew, behind Santana and Brittany, she was the best choreographer and vocal arranger. Not to mention, what would they have done without her star talent? She shuddered to think: an uninspired Michael Jackson tribute?

But no. She had fought to have been allowed to perform, and made sure she’d been there to help shepherd the other members of the glee club into something that she could look back on as being completely and utterly worth what she had to do to make it happen. Yes, everything, she beamed at the trophy she had yet to relinquish since it had been placed in her hands for the celebratory photograph, was worth it.

They were another step closer to making their way to Nationals again! She could finally make up for her disgrace. And she had shown her… _Ms. Corcoran_ , how strong she was.

It felt good. It felt really, really good.

“Hey, party at my house. Booze guaranteed,” Puck said almost offhandedly to her on his way over to where Sam and Artie were celebrating.

Blinking, startled, Rachel hopped a step forward to catch him, her hand on his wrist. “Why are you bothering to tell me? Don’t you normally try to keep me _away_?”

Puck stared down at her as if she were dumb. “Berry. Look around you. As often as I don’t say anything like this, or would normally _never_ admit to caring about something other than the Puckerman, it’s obvious we won only ‘cuz of you.”

Walking over, swinging her arm over Puck’s shoulders and patting his stomach, Santana smirked at the two. “Wow, dead squirrel boy is just _such_ the charmer, ain’t he?”

“ _Santana_!” “Santana!” Rachel and Puck spoke over each other, Rachel’s heart tripping and her hands tightening on the trophy, Puck shrugging her arm off with a cocky smirk on his face.

Santana’s eyes seared into Rachel’s, winking at her. “Hear there’s a party goin’ on,” she crossed her arms as a confident smile stretched across her face, “Sounds awesome. We’ll be there.”

Puck grinned, playfully leering at her. “Gotta have some hot chicks. Great. You good for some of your kickass brews?”

“I’ll even get B to bartend,” Santana replied, moving her head to follow Puck as he continued on his original trajectory. Once he was safely out of range with an offhand, “Awesome,” and “See ya later, Berry,”, Santana turned back to Rachel. She took a step closer. Her eyes darkened, gaze sweeping up and down Rachel’s body again. “That’s a big trophy.”

“For such a short person?” Rachel finished wryly. She swallowed when Santana slid her fingers along the back of her hand, as if she wanted to tug it away from the trophy so she could hold it; the other girl didn’t, though, instead stroking her knuckles softly with her thumb, a wide smile lifting her lips when she focused back up at Rachel’s face. “Oh Shortcake.” Laughing, she reached up, swiping her thumb along the tip of Rachel’s nose.

Rachel crossed her eyes. “What?”

Santana tilted her hand, thumb up, showing how it shone in the light. “Kept me on ya for the performance, huh?”

Squeaking loudly, Rachel slapped her hand to her nose, propping the trophy against her side, under her arm. How had she not thought to check for Santana’s lip gloss? “Do you think the judges o-or audiences could have seen that???”

Santana burst out laughing again, taking Rachel’s hand away and just barely resisting the urge to push the girl against the nearby wall and - - a deep breath to calm herself down, and the Latina settled for returning Rachel’s kiss from the day before, pressing her lips lingeringly to her cheek. “Probs not,” she said, then took a better grip on the younger girl’s hand, tugging on it and leading the singer to the dressing room so they could change and head to the party.

Once there, however, almost as soon as Rachel set the trophy down on the nearest flat surface, Santana wrapped her up, pulling the smaller girl flush against her body and -

“Oh yay, celebratory sexy times!”

Rachel shrieked, Santana cursed, and both nearly fell over, Santana barely managing to catch them despite Rachel’s flailing.

“I thought only San and I had sexy times when we lost.” Popping up next to them, Brittany instinctively reached out for both girls, pausing as if she couldn’t figure out if she should help them straighten up or push them down onto the floor with her on top. “If you’re going to continue, can I watch?”

Pausing, trying to figure out exactly what it was Brittany had just said, Rachel exhaled, gently pushing away from Santana, needing to get her pounding heart away from where Santana could feel it. Smiling apologetically at her, she ran her hand through her hair and turned to Brittany, who was standing there expectantly, head cocked.

But, “Or is this a power game? You won so you get Santana as your sex slave?” Brittany asked curiously, broadly smiling. “I could help you if you wanted.”

“B.” Santana’s voice was affectionate, the girl shaking her head before taking the blonde’s arm, quickly reaching out and snagging Rachel’s as well; pulling both girls to her, she urged them to turn. “We’ll talk about that later. We gots a party to get ready for!”

* * *

It was one in the morning, an hour after they had texted their parents, who had agreed that Rachel would sleep over at Santana’s since her house was closer to Puck’s and wouldn’t require anything but a five minute walk to get to. Because of that, Rachel now sat on Santana’s bed, freshly showered, mostly sober, with her heart hammering.

She was in Santana's room, going to be alone with her, _for the night_. The older girl was in the bathroom finishing her own shower and nightly routine, and nearly as sober as Rachel was. Which was surprising to the singer, who had expected Santana to drink her weight in alcohol in celebration - or something. Seeing as celebration had been the sake of the party, probably.

Instead, Santana’s attention had been almost completely on Rachel. _Intensely so_.

How she managed to not faint on more than one occasion was a miracle, Rachel knew. Especially given how intent the Cheerio was on seeming to want to cause that exact thing.

Rachel’s singular regret had been that they hadn’t had any time to actually _talk_ ; even she wasn’t up to the task at this time in the morning after so much excitement and adrenaline over the course of the day.

 _Tomorrow,_ she thought. _It’s the weekend still, we’ll have time._ Even with the small get together everyone had agreed on to do later in the day, Rachel was sure that she and Santana would get time together for real, and talk about everything.

Now, of course, she only had to find out what Santana expected from her _that night_. Rachel had put up only a token protest at not sleeping in the older girl’s bed, only to quickly give in when Santana had asked her point blank if she wanted to wreck her back on the ratty couch or cuddle up to one of her brothers; she had known, anyway, no matter how tipsy she had still been, she _could_ have come up with some more solutions (like forcing Santana to sleep on the floor, Rachel being the guest, after all)... But she hadn’t.

She was intrigued, attracted to Santana, and scared stiff. She wondered if she really knew what she’d just gotten herself into.

_Click._

Santana stepped into the room in small sleeping shorts and a shirt that showed several inches of midriff and definitely didn’t have a bra under it.

Immediately, Rachel’s thoughts broke up. She stared openly, eyes shifting up and down Santana’s body, unable to decide where exactly they wanted to stay.

“Chill, Berrybop. You can look all you want later, I promise. But for now…” Santana stalked up to Rachel, straddled her, and then pushed her down to the mattress, pinning her there. “It’s bed time.”

Rachel gawked, sputtering for words, torn between frustration, arousal, and sheer indignance. “S-Santana! You can’t just-! You’re so-! And g-get off of me!”

Unperturbed, Santana remained where she was, chuckling affectionately. It was rude how fucking adorable _and_ sexy Rachel was when hot, bothered, and being denied. And god, there were _so many_ other ways Santana could get those exact emotions out of her, too. “Seriously. I’m fucking exhausted, and you nearly passed out on me walking here. So just push all those naughty, naughty thoughts away, and we’ll gets our cuddle on and sleep.”

Biting her lip, Rachel’s features became relaxed and enamored again. “Cuddling? You?”

Finally getting off of her, Santana pulled Rachel up fully onto the bed and into her body, plopping down onto the mattress, making her squeak. “I am a fucking amazing cuddler,” she husked into Rachel’s ear as she wrapped herself fully around the smaller girl’s back, arranging the covers over them. _Thank you, Brittany, for convincing me it had its merits_.

Rachel shivered, but melted into Santana’s arms. “You’ll have to prove it,” she replied.

“Gladly.”

Only a few minutes later Rachel fell asleep, followed not long after by Santana, a satisfied and pleased smile on her lips.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't own the song We Are Young by the band Fun, let alone the lyrics that show up in this chapter.

Santana was pretty fucking happy. Though The Troubletones hadn't won Sectionals, they'd given a damn good performance, only a couple points shy from the New Directions' score, securely netting them second place. And though the trophy was much smaller than first place, it still held a proud place on her shelf. Hey, she wasn't Quinn; though losing sucked, it wasn't like her parents were disappointed in her. Though if her mamí and papí knew just how close she had come to fucking Rachel into a melted, boneless mess Sunday morning when they'd woken up together… Aspersions would have been slung her way.

She smirked, fixing her makeup in the mirror. Good thing her parents had decided to knock instead of just opening the door like they'd done whenever Brittany was over.

...Even if they'd cockblocked her from their first kiss  _again_.

Santana growled. It was far  _past_  fucking ridiculous now! She  _knew_  Rachel wanted her. Wanted  _alllll_  up on her, even if her mind hadn't completely caught up with her body.

Her sinfully sexy and  _amazing_  body…

"You're drooling again," Brittany commented absently, playing with her bangs in the mirror next to Santana's. "Because of the girl at the record store? Or Rachel?"

"What now?" Pausing in her drying of her hands, Mercedes turned, eyebrows incredibly high on her forehead.

Sugar dramatically pushed her way in closer. She was practically leering. "Santana  _likes_  Rachel?"

Exhaling sharply, Santana rolled her eyes. "Okay, all stop." She held up her hand, staring pointedly at her fellow Troubletones, "Since when did it became okay to listen in on me n' B's  _private_  conversations?"

"Girl, please. Since we became teammates." Crossing her arms, Mercedes leveled her own pointed look at Santana, thoroughly unimpressed. "And it's not like we can't hear it, anyway. We're  _standing_  right next to you."

"Are we still teammates if we didn't win?" Brittany asked quietly in the background. No one bothered to answer her.

"You didn't say  _no_ ," Sugar said excitedly. In the lull, she repeated to Brittany and Mercedes, "She didn't say no."

Santana grit her teeth. "We all  _heard_  you, Sugartha."

There was a flush and click as a stall door opened behind them. "Everyone heard you," Quinn smiled neutrally, making her way to a sink to the side of the quartet. "I'm just surprised not everyone  _knows_."

Santana glared at the blonde, then rolled her eyes and leaned back against one of the other sinks. " _Whatever_. I spent like, a month and a half worth of detentions with her.  _Eventually_ even  _I_ had to admit she'd look good naked and in my bed."

Brittany nodded, eyes wide, Quinn and Mercedes winced - Quinn gagging for good measure - and Sugar's brows furrowed. "Oohhh," said the youngest of the five. "So you just want sex with her."

All eyes went back to the Latina, who felt a strange twist stomach at the implications of 'just'. She shrugged, crossing her arms, and Brittany and Quinn both noted the defensive posturing she was taking. "Not like it's a one way street. Don't make me sound pathetic. Berry wants up on this so bad she's drooling for it."

Just then, said Berry walked in, covered in slushy. She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the girls like a deer in the headlights. "Oh… uh… I'll find another bathroom - "

" _What the fuck_?" Quinn and Santana both seethed in unison, Brittany and Sugar watching as Mercedes grabbed Rachel's wrist before she could make a hasty exit, offering to help her get washed up.

Santana stepped between them suddenly, hands on Rachel's shoulders. " _Who did this_?" she all but growled. Rachel looked up at her, trembling slightly, and Santana realized she was scaring the girl. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, relaxing her grip on the singer's shoulders and repeating, softer this time, "Rachel, who slushied you?"

Behind them the other girls watched with rapt attention, and somewhere Brittany had pulled out fruit snacks and was slowly eating them as she watched. Sugar, not taking her eyes off of Rachel and Santana, nudged her in a request for one. Pouting slightly, the blonde acquiesced, dropping one of her least favorites into her hand.

Rachel knew it wasn't like she had the choice to not respond. Sucking her lower lip into her mouth, unconsciously licking the cherry slush that accompanied the movement, she sighed, dropping her shoulders. "Azimio."

"Azimio," Santana repeated blankly.

Mercedes sighed in recognition. She began to make herself useful, starting to run warm water over a paper towel.

Quinn shouldered her way to their sides. "Who else?" When Rachel hesitated, she asked again, eyes narrowing. "Rachel, Azimio  _never_  strikes alone. Who else?"

"...Vasco Terrazas and Topher Wescott."

Growling the boys' names, Santana's grip on Rachel's shoulders suddenly tightened. "I am going to  _kill_  them. Who do they fucking think they are, going against us?" She snapped her head towards Quinn, " _Q_."

"Already on it." Her phone out, Quinn had her HBIC face on, moving over towards Sugar and Brittany to bark directions away from where Rachel could hear her. At a break in the conversation, she turned her head, looking back at Rachel. "We'll get them."

Rachel managed a small nod, even though everyone could see she wasn't comfortable being the cause of someone getting their asses, probably not proverbially if Santana got her way, kicked.

"Those fucking losers," Santana continued seething, using one hand to sweep Rachel's bangs away from her eyes, the dripping slush finding the back of her hand and wrist a better landscape to trail down. She snapped her fingers. "Wheezy. Towel." As soon as it was in her hand, she whispered, stroking the top of Rachel's head with her thumb in quick, rigid movements as if she was still barely holding back her anger, "Close your eyes."

Continuing to keep her bangs back, more slushy dripping down her hand, Santana gently dabbed at the red around Rachel's eyelids. She knew how much that burned.

Rachel unconsciously leaned into her.

Turning towards Brittany, Sugar whispered, popping another fruit snack Brittany handed to her into her mouth, "Does it seem to you Santana only wants sex?"

Brittany hummed. "Do you?"

"What?"

"Want sex?"

Sugar stared at Brittany, eyes wide. "With you? That'd totally be like having sex with a super hot sister and that's weird," she replied. "Oh hey, can I have a cherry flavor?"

"Did I say with me? I can't remember." Shrugging, Brittany then, surprisingly, gave up a cherry flavored fruit snack as the two turned their attention back to the drama in front of them.

Except, no one but Mercedes was there anymore.

Sugar looked around frantically. "H-hey! Where did everyone go? And how'd they sneak out?"

Mercedes finished fluffing her hair up a bit. "Santana and Rachel to the showers to 'clean her up',  _apparently_. Quinn to… be terrifying and slaughter some jocks. And they left when you first started having your weird-ass conversation."

Both girls frowned, Brittany mumbling, "But I still had a whole bag of candy left for the show…"

* * *

Santana sat on one of the locker room benches, huffing quietly to herself as she waited for Rachel to finish rinsing off all of the slushy. When she had offered to walk the girl to the locker room to shower, she'd  _planned_ on actually being in there  _with her_. Instead, Rachel had pecked her on the cheek, said she'd only be a few minutes, and taken the towel Santana had offered. She had undressed in the shower stall too, Santana not even catching a glimpse.

 _Don't be a fuckboy,_ Santana reminded herself, inhaling deeply to calm down. She was _not_ like those moronic, soon to be dead, jocks. She could handle Rachel's shyness or whatever.  _We aren't even like, doing anything yet. Cool it, Lopez._

The clock ticked by, and quarter after three the water turned off and Rachel stepped out of the shower. She was wrapped in nothing but the towel, and even with the flush on her cheeks caused by the hot water, Santana could see her blushing. "Um… I… I don't have extra clothes…"

Santana smirked, Rachel glared indignantly, and finally the older girl rolled her eyes. " _Fiiiiine_. Gimma a sec. You can use my gym clothes." She stood, letting her hand brush up against Rachel's hip as she passed her, heading into the Cheerios lockers.

Rachel stood alone then, in nothing but a towel and wondering why she felt so off. Maybe it was because, despite her best efforts, she and Santana  _hadn't_ gotten to talk. They had sat near one another during the get together, she had snuck small kisses to Santana's cheek, Santana to her nose, but not once had there been time  _alone_. Then there was going their separate ways, the rest of the Sunday and homework ahead of them. And  _now_  she had gotten slushied.

The universe had, apparently, used up all of its goodwill for her on Sectionals.

Santana returned moments after that somewhat depressing thought, noting Rachel's subdued features as she handed the girl her clothes. "Hey… We'll get the fuckers back," she said, not sure how to comfort the girl, or what she needed comfort about.

Rachel shook her head, but smiled up at Santana as the Cheerio handed her the gym clothes. "I'm okay, really. Just thinking is all. Thank you, just give me a moment."

Rachel went into the nearest stall then, grabbing her own bra and underwear from her stack of clothes, both of which were thankfully dry, and changed into Santana's gym shorts and shirt. The shirt was a little big around the chest and shoulders, the shorts a bit longer than they would have been on the Latina, but otherwise everything fit just fine.

She sighed. She had really liked that sweater and skirt…

Stepping out, she was greeted by Santana, who gave her an appreciative up and down. "You should wear my clothes more often…" she said, licking her lips.

Rachel giggled, face going red again, and tucked a length of her hair behind her ear. "Didn't Finn say we were meeting in the auditorium?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

Santana stepped up to her, hands on her hips and pulling Rachel in closer. "Yeah. Q reminded me. I gotta go meet up with Mercedes and Britts - and I guess Sugar - with the other Troubletones, though. Shelby has a speech or whatever for us."

"Oh, alright, then I'll…"

"We'll be there in bit."

Rachel brightened, nodding her head. For a moment she considered kissing Santana, right on the lips, while they were alone and could do so. But if she did, she feared she wouldn't want to ever stop, and then what? So, she settled for lightly kissing Santana's jaw line, then stepped back, slowly leaving the Cheerio's arms. "Okay. I'll see you in a bit."

She hurried out before she could convince herself to stay put and let Santana have her way with her.

Santana just bit down hard on her lower lip and willed her body to cool off. There was no time to rub one out. She needed to meet with her teammates; thoughts of pushing Rachel up against the nearest bathroom stall and going knuckle deep would just have to wait until later.  _Dammit_.

* * *

Quinn waylaid Rachel before she got to the auditorium, beckoning her to join her near the water fountain. Her phone was still in her hand, a cross look on her face, and only her eyebrows went up when she saw what Rachel was wearing. When Rachel stopped in front of her, the blonde smothered a laugh. "Did you even  _look_  at the back of that shirt before you put it on?"

"What?" Frowning, Rachel made a feeble attempt at looking over her own shoulder, but gave up when Quinn snickered at her. "What does it say?" As extra protection - knowing Santana, it was probably incredibly inappropriate or incredibly sexual - she turned her back to the lockers, shaking out her still damp hair to help it fall as far down as it could.

"Oh no. I'll let her tell you that. When she does, ask her if she knew it was the shirt she'd written on or not when she gave it to you.

"Anyway," Quinn's ebullient mood abruptly dropped, the sharpening of her voice making Rachel's protest die on her tongue, "I just wanted to let you know payback has been planned and set in motion."

Rachel's stomach twisted. On one hand, she knew she'd enjoy the three…  _boys_  getting their comeuppance, but on the other, she felt like she should feel less enthused about it. "You and Santana really take that list seriously, don't you?" she asked to sidestep the implication, head tilted. A thought hit her. "I'm surprised Santana allowed you to arrange it by yourself."

Quinn snorted. "You really think she sat back and let me do it? Here." She held up her phone, the text thread obviously Santana's from around the time Rachel had been taking her shower. Rachel could make out numerous crass words and threats and exclamation marks, and her ears heated up, another blush coming to her face. She cleared her throat.

Smirking, Quinn locked the screen, slipping it back into her pocket. "While you were showering, most likely, Santana was working off her libido via text. I have to tell you," she stepped away from the lockers, motioning for Rachel to follow her into the auditorium, still extremely amused by how Rachel was trying to figure out what was on her shirt and hide it while she pretended like she wasn't, "I almost found it sweet, if my phone hadn't started smoking. I do  _not_  know where S gets most of her language from."

"I'm not really sure I want to know."

"Good point."

Striding up the steps leading onto the stage, Rachel finally gave in, resigning herself to not knowing what was written on Santana's shirt.

…Until a whistle from Mike behind her, echoed by Tina's loud laugh, made her accelerate and march towards the darker part of the stage, completely bypassing Finn, who tried to get her attention.

Once sufficiently away that she felt a little covered, but close enough to hear if they were ready to start the song – though certainly not without her, Rachel pulled her arms into her sleeves, wiggling and pulling from the inside to swivel the shirt around. She squinted, trying to read the thick black marker.

Oh for -  _Santana Maria_   _Lopez_!

**Hot Ass Bitch**

When would Santana have ever written  _that_? And why? Rachel couldn't even  _think_ of a situation for the girl to have done so.

Sighing, rolling her eyes, Rachel twisted the shirt back around. It wasn't like there was anything she could do about it.

* * *

As soon as Shelby ended her speech, a proud smile on her face and a sad, resigned look in her eyes, chuckling and shaking her head at Sugar's question if she was going to stay and take over the glee club, the Cheerios streamed out of the room.

"They look happy that things are going back to normal," she commented. "I would have thought at least  _some_  of them would have been happy to be part of The Troubletones."

Brittany shrugged, picking up her backpack. "Nah, they just came because San threatened to cut them from the team if they didn't."

Shelby frowned, her expression full of surprise and grudging respect as she turned to the mentioned Cheerio currently walking up to her. "Well, thank you, Santana. Definitely made this group work better than it could have."

"I didn't do it for you."

Casting her co-captain a wary, searching look, Mercedes took a step away. " _Anyway_ ," she stressed, taking Shelby's attention from the blithely neutral Santana, "We really appreciate you teaching us. It was fun."

"It was," Sugar added. She pulled a business card from her pocket, handing it to the older woman. "That's my dad's private line. If you need anything, and I mean  _anything_ , call him."

Shelby looked ill. "I… don't think I should take this."

"It's not like you have a choice," Sugar smiled broadly, no hint of artifice in her voice or manner; Mercedes and Santana exchanged uneasy glances. She clasped her hands behind her back. "My daddy  _wants_  you to have it. It's for helping showcase my rising talent."

"Seriously,  _how_  does that sound so chilling?" Mercedes whispered to Santana.

Santana shrugged. "The girl's definitely got talent."

Wandering over, her second bag of fruit snacks in her hands, Brittany brightened at the sight of the card Shelby was reluctantly placing into her pocket with a strained, polite, "Thank you." "Hey!" the blonde announced, "You're, like, the only other person I've seen with one of those. And it has an orange background! I haven't seen that color before."

"What?" Mercedes blurted, "You've seen those before?"

"Yeah." Digging into her backpack, Brittany popped out with at least five of Daddy Motta's business cards. "I have a whole set. Wanna trade? I'm trying to make a rainbow."

Mercedes turned to Sugar. "Did you…"

Sugar shook her head. "She didn't get those from me. Oh!" She pointed exuberantly, "You have a purple one! That's amazing. What did you do to manage that?"

"Wait, so the colors actually have different meanings?" Shelby blurted. At the girl's nod, she paled and shook her head, slipping the card back into her pocket. "I… Think I better keep this, then."

"Good choice. See, if you look at the backside, there's also different symbols. Symbols plus colors means…  _Wow_! You have a  _rose_? And it's on a  _blue_  card? You  _have_ to tell me what you did to get this!"

Barely able to keep up with Sugar's excited prattling at Brittany, Mercedes shaking her head next to them, Shelby flinched when Santana coolly spoke her name. "Yes, Santana?" she smiled, obviously happy to switch directions from… whatever that had been.

Santana studied the woman. She'd been a damn good coach, able to bring out all the potential everyone had, then multiplying it and weaving everyone's strengths and weaknesses together flawlessly. She'd fulfilled her role, and one part of Santana actually held her in high regard, respecting her for doing what she wanted with no thought to other people's feelings.

The other part of her wanted to cut a bitch. And not just for Rachel, surprisingly.

Shelby studied the cheerleader, feeling uncomfortably nervous as she was carefully evaluated.

Finally, "Thanks and stuff. Even if you had shitty motivation-"

"I- Wha-"

"It was cool that we got our shot. And we totally kicked ass anyway." Santana smiled at Mercedes, who smiled back. "Anyway, we out. Nude Directions wants us in the auditorium. See ya, Shelby."

"It's Ms. Cor-"

But the girls were already leaving, Sugar and Brittany waving goodbye with wide smiles before turning back to Brittany's card collection, once again talking animatedly.

* * *

_"_ _The angels never arrived, but I can hear the choir. So someone come and carry me hoome…"_

_"_ _Tonii-iight… We are young…"_

Santana never really believed much for angels, or anything close to it. Especially since the fallout with her abuela. But as Rachel walked up to her and took her hand, personally welcoming her back to the group and smiling so brightly it was near blinding, Santana decided that there had to be  _something_ out there for her to have realized that the short girl  _wasn't_ a total loser and hermit.

Past her was an idiot, being wrapped up in Brittany not counting. But still.

Eventually the song came to a close, and she didn't try to hold back when everyone closed in for a huge group hug. Maybe she had missed all the losers. At least a little.

And maybe…

Without any warning, as the group began drawing back from the hug, Santana pulled Rachel to the center, flush against her body, and kissed her hard. She had waited days, maybe possibly weeks, for this, to feel Rachel's lips on hers and feel the singer's hands clutch at her back.

And it had totally been worth it.

There were whoops and gasps and possibly money being subtly exchanged, but both girls ignored it until they absolutely needed to breathe.

When Santana finally drew back, Rachel's face was flushed, and she was panting just slightly, eyes wide and brimming with an array of emotions. "That… i-in front of…?"

Santana shrugged, feeling a little - or maybe more than a little - worked up herself. "Didn't wanna chance running out of time."

And somehow, the way Santana said it, made Rachel's heart race all the more. "O-okay. Me neither…"

Then they were swarmed with questions, but before Rachel could get a word in, Santana grabbed her hand and dragged her from the group. Calling out, "Later, losers! We out!" as she pulled Rachel from the auditorium, it wasn't until they were halfway down the hall that she finally slowed so Rachel could walk beside her.

There, as in the auditorium before, Rachel smiled at her, laced their fingers together, and, absolutely elated, pressed herself into the girl who had  _finally_  kissed her… to give her one of her own.


	19. Chapter 19

"So how was it?" Santana smirked at Rachel, sinking down into the chair in front of her.

Rachel smiled. Placing a bookmark into her book, she closed it, folding her hands on top so she didn't reach out and tug the older girl into a needy, overly demonstrative kiss. "I see you're in detention again." She tried to look discouraging, but a smile and light blush gave her away. "Does it have anything to do with Azimio walking around in a sling? Santana. You could have gotten in serious trouble for assaulting another student! Not to mention being morally reprehensive, too."

"Assaulting?" Snorting, Santana pushed her hair behind her ear, leaning closer to Rachel, "Not my fault the big ape couldn't handle a soft tap hello on the shoulder,  _tripping_  into the lockers."

"That's your story?"

"Yup."

"That he tripped."

"Dude should have had his mom tie his shoes tighter that morning."

"And of course all the terrified masses seeing this incident will swear to the same version of events."

Santana's lips curved up. "What can I say? I'm thorough." Shifting in her seat, moving her hips closer to the back of the chair to free up her chest and shoulders, she reached forward, curling her hands around Rachel's.

Rachel melted. She had a good idea of what kind of sentiment Santana was going to express.

Squeezing her hands, Santana's eyes darkened. "Santana Lopez looks out for her own," she said, like it was simple. And it was. It was simple for her. Azimio had flouted the hierarchy, which was a heinous, punishable offence by itself. She and Q had declared the glee club off limits. That was McKinley High law.

But for him to have gone after Rachel, specifically? Santana had barely kept herself back from permanently laming the footballer. He deserved  _far_  more than the fractured elbow he'd gotten. Who knew the idiot had glass bones? He played  _football_ , for god's sake.

Rachel's teeth bit into her lower lip. Red rose on her cheeks. "Your own?"

Rubbing her thumb along the back of Rachel's hand, Santana grinned at her, eyebrows raising. "Well, we're both in glee club again, aren't we?"

Still feeling warm in her chest because of what Santana wasn't saying but obviously covering for, Rachel allowed that thought to go, smiling allowingly and tugging her hands back only when the teacher came in.

Tapping Rachel's desk, Santana turned around only long enough to wave mockingly as her name was called for roll. Coming back around, she crossed her arms on the top of her chair, cocky smirk back in place. "So, you never answered me. How was it?"

"How was what?"

Santana lowered her voice, looking at Rachel seductively through her eyelashes. "Our auditorium kiss."

Rachel blushed. "I would think," she smiled shyly, smoothing down the cover of her book in lieu of doing something else, "You would well know how I thought it was. In fact." She frowned, sighing, a playful-but-sort-of-actually-accusing tone in her voice as she looked at Santana pointedly, "It was because I spent the next hour with you…"

"Revisiting that kiss," Santana leered.

"Yes, well, however much I enjoyed that," and oh, she had enjoyed that! She'd been left weak-kneed and aroused for hours afterward, "I still received another couple days of detention because I never showed up yesterday. Thank you."

Shrugging, Santana lightly chucked her finger under Rachel's chin. "Not gonna apologize for doing something we both wanted," she hummed, fingers dropping to glide teasingly across Rachel's. She enjoyed the shivers she got out of the girl with every touch she gave her. "And, hell, it's your fault. I'm not responsible for keeping your schedule, Tink.

"Anyway, all's I'm saying is that I  _know_  that was  _much_  better than the pansy-ass auditorium kiss you and Finnept had sophomore year."

Rachel's smile disappeared after a moment, eyes seeming to lose some of their mirth. "... _That's_ why you kissed me?" she asked, voice quiet, expression falling.

Santana blinked, furrowing her brows. "What? No-"

Then the bright sheen began peeking at the corners of her eyes, and suddenly Rachel shot her hand up, facing the teacher at the front. "May I please use the bathroom?"

The teacher just grunted, and Rachel sprang out of her seat and out of the classroom before Santana could get a word in.

Santana could only stare stupidly at the door, her brain not catching up right away. Finally, "Are you fucking serious?" she said to the air. Groaning, she considered  _not_  following the girl, but even she knew how much that would fracture… whatever the hell this was. Not to mention making it even less likely she'd get her hands on her again.

So, no. Damage control.

Dammit. Berry  _really_  had to get a sense of humor.

Rising, walking past the teacher while plucking up the bathroom pass Rachel had forgotten in her rush, Santana gave the teacher a tight, close lipped smile and raise of her eyebrow.

The teacher only rolled his eyes, going back to Angry Birds.

Okay. Exhaling, Santana tapped the side of her cheek. Nearest bathroom or, like that time when she'd gotten  _completely_  slushied, the one farthest away?

Well, Rachel  _had_  already started tearing up -  _god_  could Santana do without that! While annoying, she did… Couldn't help…  _Fuck_  she thought she'd been done with making the brownie cry. It didn't feel so good anymore.

The bathroom door crashing open, Santana barely waited to see if Rachel was standing at the sink before speaking. "Alright, let's get one thing straight. If you're gonna have a negative response to something I do or say,  _stop_  freaking out and fricken'  _tell me why_  sos I can explain or dress you down. This running thing? Not cool."

Rachel stared at her, eyes dark and already tearing up again,  _dammit_.

Her heart squeezing, Santana exhaled again and strode forward, gently cupping Rachel's face. "Look up," she said. When Rachel did, after a second and small flinch and fleeting glance to the side, Santana hmmed. Nodding, slightly stepping back, she kept her right hand on Rachel's cheek as she reached for a paper towel with her left. "Well, good news is you stopped leaking before you completely ruined your makeup. If you could keep it that way," she turned back with the newly moistened towel, smiling slightly seriously and slightly fakely, "Then we won'ts have to reapply it."

"What?" Blinking, Rachel tried to look at Santana, only for Santana to raise a sharp eyebrow at her, nodding for her to look up again, wiping the towel below her eyes. "I. Santana?" She worried her hands in front of her, barely brushing against the fabric of Santana's shirt.

"'S my name," Santana replied unhelpfully. She smirked.  _Or Hot Ass Bitch_ , she thought about adding, but decided not to. She wasn't sure Rachel was settled enough - or unsettled enough - to appreciate it.

Rachel's eyes were losing their redness, which, good. Meant she hadn't been crying as hard as Santana'd seen before. It hadn't even creeped down to her nose. Idly stroking her thumb along Rachel's cheekbone, she sat back on her heels. "There. Better."

The smaller girl let out a shaky breath. "What are you doing?" she asked, voice quiet, words too heavy to be questioning Santana stroking her cheek in a school bathroom.

Santana leaned in, touching her nose to Rachel's. "I'm  _trying_ to… Geez…" For a moment the cheerleader lost her train of thought, distracted by Rachel's eyes and lips. "Okay, listen. I have some idea of why you stormed out in all your Rachel Berry glory. But just to be safe, so that there aren't any more  _assumptions_ … What did you think I meant when I said what I did?"

That was a lot of words from Santana, and Rachel wasn't used to her being so… direct. Not about what this was, or anything having to do with them, like this. Whatever this… She mentally shook those thoughts away, realizing quickly that they were going nowhere, and that if Santana wasn't to be upfront, then she could.

"It felt like… like you chose that moment, with all of our friends, in that place, because you have this  _need_ to always one-up whoever you are currently rivaling against… Even if the rivalry is in your head… And not… I mean, e-especially since you specifically named Finn and my's first kiss." She bit her lip, looking down, unable to continue the direct eye contact, and this time Santana didn't push her to do so.

Santana internally flinched, a voice in her head actually laughing because… yeah… that definitely  _did_ sound like a thing she'd do. Or would have done. With someone else. "Not with you," she replied, voice firm, the words said aloud surprising even herself. Rachel's breath caught in her throat, and Santana used the chance to lean in, one arm wrapping around the singer's waist and pulling her flush to her body. "I didn't kiss you because of  _them_."

Then they were kissing, Santana initiating, pressing her lips softly to Rachel's own, holding back until the girl slowly began to respond, and then it was like nothing could stop it. Rachel's hands went to Santana's hair, Santana's arms up around her back, only the barest of breaking off to breathe in for a second just so that they could reconnect.

It felt like hours until they both drew away, and Santana husked, " _That's_ why I kissed you," voice thick. "You're just so… God, Rachel. It's fucking insane how badly I want to push you up against that wall and do absolutely  _blasphemous_ things to your body. You don't even know."

Arousal slammed into Rachel so hard she was amazed her legs remained under her, though her knees definitely felt weakened. "Oh… w-well then… So… not just because of…"

"No. I mean, yeah, that's sorta totally icing on the cake, but I'm sorta a bitch so…"

To Santana's absolute relief, Rachel smiled up at her. "You really are…"

"Mmmn… well… the devil you know, right?" Santana leaned in for another kiss, but Rachel pressed a hand to the Cheerio's sternum, stopping her.

"We still have detention. And..." she bit her lip. "And while you are…  _incredibly_ persuasive… I refuse to… for anything like  _that_ to happen in such a…" Finally, giving up on trying to be tactful with her words, Rachel simply said, "The first time we engage in any form of sexual conduct will be some place comfortable and  _private."_

 _Will_.

That was a  _will_ , not an  _if_. Rachel had  _totally_ just said, straight  _up_ , that there was going to be sex in the future. And Santana's mind was  _reeling._

 _Holy fuck I am going to fuck Rachel Berry_.

And, okay, not  _now_ , she knew. Maybe not tomorrow, or even a week or whatever from right then. But Rachel had said  _will_. Which was basically just a matter of when, and Santana had already come to terms with being patient as a damn saint for the girl.

Rachel watched as Santana's expression suddenly slammed into something scarily intense. Then, her eyes met Rachel's, and, fast enough that Rachel wasn't expecting having to firm her palm against her sternum, Santana kissed her again, her arms dropping to Rachel's lower back, pulling her in and up against her.

... _Oh_. Rachel whimpered, immediately swept up into another round of Santana's mouth and body and tongue and heat and being so thankful Santana was holding her up because she was once again unsure her legs would listen to her anymore.

Rachel's back had just touched the rim of the counter, Santana leaning in, hands having fallen down to cup and squeeze her hips, chests pressing together, when the door opened. From the sound of an indrawn, "Whoah!" and hurried retreat, it was obviously, thankfully, not a teacher.

Laughing, chuckling as she drew back just enough so their lips still brushed together but without any real weight behind them, Santana smirked at her. "Still wanna go back?"

Rachel licked her lips, eyes darting down when her tongue flicked along Santana's lower lip, the cheerleader humming and kissing her again. When they parted, "Back…?" she mumbled.

Santana stroked up and down Rachel's sides. "Mmhm."

"Back." Swallowing, Rachel lifted her chin, mouth parting in unconscious invitation to get kissed again. They really should be heading back. Really. Digging her fingernails into the back of Santana's neck, she had every intent to protest verbally, if not physically.

Physically, she could feel the temptation to just allow Santana to keep on touching her…

Too bad her head wasn't about to let that happen.

When said head decided to intervene  _just_  as Santana's mouth trailed down her jaw… it was disappointing, if not completely unfair. " _Okay_!" she groaned, raising her voice, grip tightening around Santana's shoulders in an attempt to push her back, "We've, uhm, we've been too long gone. I mean it." Taking in the kiss swollen, plump lips in front of her, she had to fight to not immediately start reneging on her decision.

Laughing again, incredibly smug, Santana jerked Rachel in for one last kiss before letting go of her entirely. She took a step back. "Got distracted there, hmm?" she teased, eyes still dark, expression satisfied.

Not giving the cheerleader an inch, Rachel cleared her throat, turning on her heel to face the mirror again. Her gaze flickered toward Santana's reflection, and she barely swallowed a laugh, cheeks pinkening even as pride welled in her chest.  _She_  may not have to fix her makeup (or at least not much), but Santana would definitely feel the need to.

On cue, Santana stepped up to Rachel's side, grumbling as she fixed her hair and, seemingly out of nowhere, had a thing of lip gloss and was smoothly skimming it over her plush lips. Rachel couldn't help but stare momentarily, and Santana winked at her via the mirror. "You could have these backs, you know."

But Rachel, somehow, resisted. "I shall keep that in mind for the future."

That got a chuckle from the Cheerio, which made Rachel feel more of that warmth in her chest, and, with her own little smile, she turned her gaze back to the mirror, taking the offered lip gloss from Santana and swiping it along her mouth smoothly.

The walk back to detention was almost perfect until Santana produced the bathroom pass Rachel had forgotten, dangling it teasingly in front of her. Huffing, Rachel blushed, crossed her arms, and refused to look at her. Santana's husky chuckle and skim of her hand along her lower back, however, was enough to insure that the physical distance didn't last long.


	20. Chapter 20

Rachel had just pulled out her History homework when the screech of a desk and chair alerted her to bother looking up at the person in front of her. Her eyebrows rose when she saw who it was.

Taking up Santana's normal position of sitting backwards, chest pressed against the back of the chair and arms crossed on top, smirking broadly at her, Puck answered by raising his own eyebrows. "J.A.P."

Rachel mentally rolled her eyes at the mohawked boy's need to abbreviate even  _that_. "Noah." Now that she thought about it, she was surprised that she hadn't seen him in detention before. Wasn't he (supposedly) McKinley High's "bad boy"? One who often got in trouble?

If Santana had been there and privy to her thoughts, Rachel could practically hear her snide, disgusted, "That dead squirrel on his head's probably all the trouble he could handle.", and she smothered a grin. In that one thing, she was in accord with her… The older girl.

Subdued at the reminder that they  _still_  hadn't properly discussed… well…  _anything_  beside her embarrassing, vulnerable, aroused response to Santana's overtures, Rachel sat back in her chair. Puck continued to grin at her. "Yes?"

"So you're getting 'snuggly'," Puck waggled his eyebrows, "With Satan, huh?"

Even though she wasn't a hundred percent sure how Santana wanted to play their relationship with each other to the public, at least Rachel was secure that, having been in the auditorium for their first kiss, it would be pointless to flat out deny anything. …That didn't mean she couldn't deflect, of course. "We're amiable, yes. So what did you do this time, Noah?"

Unsurprisingly, the boy immediately delved into a "badass" story of the latest prank he had pulled on the hockey team, his attention completely switching to himself. Rachel vaguely listened, glancing to Santana who had entered and taken a seat in the back row, eying them like a hawk. Scowling, too. If Rachel didn't know any better…

At some point Rachel realized that Puck had stopped talking, and she smiled at him. "And here you are," she replied, seemingly having been listening to every word.

Puck flexed his biceps, winking at her. "Hell yeah. Totally worth it. Those bitches won't be bothering the glee club for a while."

Wait, what?

"You think so?" Rachel asked, now trying to actually figure out exactly what Puck had done, and  _why_.

The boy leaned back against the desk, shrugging with a confident smirk. "After all that? Hell yeah. Besides, Q totally backed us up. She isn't Head Cheerio anymore but she's totally still the HBIC."

An audible growl, and Puck paled a bit, clearing his throat. "But like, not the same as Lopez. Who's the Co-Captain of the Cheerios. And way scary."

Rachel glanced back at the still scowling girl glaring fiery daggers at Puck, and smiled, almost shyly at her, before turning back to Puck, "Very scary."  _And really sexy sometimes when being scary…_ "Anyway, thank you for defending us, Noah. I'm glad we as a glee club have made such strides as a musically inclined family."

Puck rolled his eyes, sitting up and turning in his seat. "Yeah yeah. And stop making sex eyes at Santana unless you're gonna let me wat- OW!"

The pen that had hit Puck square in the back of the head fell to the floor, and Rachel didn't have to look to know that Santana had thrown it. She could still feel the fire from the girl even though it wasn't directed at her.

 _Sexily terrifying indeed…_ She, as smoothly as she could, leaned down, picking up the pen. Catching Santana's eye over her shoulder as she did so, she gave her a wrinkled nose grin, heart palpitating when Santana winked at her. "Nice to see she's using that skill for good," Rachel commented genially as she straightened, placing the pen next to her notebook, planning on giving it back to the Cheerio after detention.

"She's always had a mean throwing arm," Puck grunted, rubbing the back of his head. He lowered his voice, moving his head slightly to look at Rachel again. "Dude, that wasn't cool."

"I think you deserved it," Rachel responded dryly.

"You  _would_  say that."

Another pen smacked into the side of Puck's head, narrowly missing his eye. He squeaked, then coughed, immediately changing his reaction into one satisfactorily masculine.

Rachel turned to look at Santana. "That one was too close," she enunciated clearly, knowing Santana heard her when she rolled her eyes, throwing her hand up. The girl then smirked, pulling out her phone. Quickly typing something, she looked back up at Rachel with dark, dancing eyes.

On cue, Rachel's phone vibrated in her backpack. Smothering a smile with a half-exasperated exhalation, she pulled it out.

"Aww, c'mon," Puck groaned, then ducked an eraser; as Rachel unlocked the screen, she took the time to see where the eraser had gone, blanching. It was at Ms. Holliday's feet, the teacher reaching down to pick it up. She reflexively hid her phone in her lap, unlocked but unread.

Just as Ms. Holliday's fingers made contact, a Sharpie impacted Puck's head. "Come  _on_!" he yelped, loudly twisting in his seat to glare at Santana.

Santana only smirked wider, eyebrows raising tauntingly.

Walking down the aisle, Ms. Holliday picked up the Sharpie as well, brushing it off before crossing her arms, holding Santana's ammunition tightly. "I assume this time, Ms. Lopez, you're not attempting to flirt with Puckerman?" she stated lightly.

Santana snorted. She leaned back confidently in her seat, arms crossing over her chest, lips curving up.

"And I'm also assuming you wouldn't want me to confiscate Rachel's phone? The one she so badly hid under the desk?"

Santana's expression didn't change, but Rachel's did. She flinched, eyes widening, her phone practically creaking in her grip. Was there a way she could read the text in question to see if it  _truly_  would be mortifying for someone else to see? Knowing Santana…

Rolling her eyes, Holly relented, looking at Santana with an unimpressed expression on her face. "Ms. Lopez, next time either be sneakier, or remember to think about whether or not Ms. Berry is as sharing as you are."

To her credit, Santana looked somewhat put out - maybe even apologetic, and huffed, relenting as well. Ms. Holliday nodded, returning to her desk, and Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. Her phone buzzed again, right between her legs, and she jumped with a barely audible squeak. Sending a glare back at the Latina, Rachel finally looked down at it. She glanced at Puck, who had turned around with his arms on his desk, head resting on them, most likely planning on napping through the last half hour of their detention.

Deeming it safe, Rachel finally opened the message alert.

_U can make it up 2 me later_

Getting to the second message, she just barely stopped from gasping, face absolutely on fire.

_Ur coming over 2night after detention. Rents r away on vacay ;)_

The winky face was entirely unnecessary, was the first thing Rachel manage to think that  _wasn't_ arousing.

The second thing… She bit her lip. Yes, she had definitely said that sex was most likely in their future if things continued on this path, but… did Santana really think Rachel was ready for it  _that night?_

Her fingers shook slightly as she replied, hitting send and quickly putting her phone back between her thighs; this time closer up to her knees.

_Santana, while I understand that my latest signals may lead you to believe otherwise, I do not yet believe we have reached that level of intimacy in our… relationship. More so because it has yet to be defined in any way, nor have we had ample opportunity to discuss our feelings towards one another in whatever regard they may be._

Minutes ticked by with no answer from the Cheerio, and Rachel was starting to think she had made a horrible, horrible mistake.

Had she read out of context? Were the signals  _she_ was seeing wrong? Was-

_Bzzt. Bzzt._

Relief flooded her, chest loosening, and Rachel quickly opened the message – then the following ones.

_U txt like my dad. But w/ more english. Stop_

_Ur sleeping over and we r watching movies and shit_

_But if u change ur mind…_

_That was a joke_

_But srsly. Ur coming over to get our mack on and like, stuff. Just tell ur dads. Or i will. I can b persuasive_

The entire series of texts had been an emotional rollercoaster in the span of a few seconds: relief, panic, confusion, back to relief, and then panic again with a hint of giddy warmth just to make it rounded off.

Honestly, Rachel didn't know  _what_ to think. Except that, apparently, she was having a sleepover alone with Santana Lopez and it, in theory, was not going to end in sex that Rachel wasn't sure she was emotionally ready for.

The kissing though…

 _How in the world does Santana expect us to make out without…_ She could still feel the Latina's hot hands on her hips from their previous encounters.

She really hoped the Cheerio could be the sensible one, because if put into the position of in an empty house on a comfy bed alone with her? Rachel wasn't sure her willpower could handle it.

Then, a thought. This way, maybe if she brought it up instantly, before Santana could seduce her (all too easily), they could actually have a  _conversation._

Reopening her phone, Rachel typed back.  _I shall call my fathers after detention. It should be fine. However if I agree to this then I fully expect you to take responsibility and not tempt me with your wiles. Also, we are going to talk about… whatever this is between us. And finally, I most likely shall not actually be sleeping over._

The reply was nearly as quick as the last.  _Yes u r. We already did it once. Its not a big deal_

Then,  _Tempt u w/ my wiles u say? That Berry speak 4 turn u on so bad u beg me 2 turn u into a hot, sweaty, writhing body of arousal? Begging me 2 fuck u harder? Deeper? Let u cum?_

Rachel whipped her head around the second she read Santana's last text, glaring fiercely before hurriedly texting back.  _Santana! That is inappropriate! And for your information the last time was before we… Before we had kissed and there were parents present. It was a completely different scenario._

Santana's response practically rolled its eyes.  _The lame scenario._   _Fine. Geez. Unwind ur panties sugarberry. Ill 'behave' and protect ur 'virtue' from myself. Still sleeping over tho. That wasnt a request._

When Rachel looked at her again, Santana gave her a smug, confident, irritatingly  _attractive_  smile. And Barbra help her, Rachel found her lips twitch back in what  _could_ have been a responding smile if she hadn't have swallowed it purely out of propriety's sake.

* * *

To her absolute pleasure, Santana came upon Rachel loitering near her uncle's car. At detention's end, she'd had to duck away to grab her Cheerio kit from her locker, hoping the girl wouldn't slip away at the chance. She wanted to get her sleepover on, and, zeroing in on Rachel, preoccupied with talking on her cell, her back to Santana, Santana dropped her gym bag, slipped her keys into her pocket, and molded her body to Rachel's, arms wrapping under her ribcage. Remembering their conversation from earlier, she made sure to keep her hands in 'safe places'. Jeez.

Still, "How goes the convincing?" she whispered suggestively into the ear opposite the cell. Mmm… She really did love the smell of Rachel's shampoo.

Slowly relaxing, her breath releasing the tight inhale she'd taken at Santana's abrupt hug, Rachel shifted so she could meet the taller girl's gaze, Santana grinning at the pink rising on her cheeks. "Er, we're just negotiating dinner plans. It was my turn to cook dinner tonight, I'd forgotten. And seeing as it's a school night - yes, Daddy, as I said, I finished my homework in study hall and detention - he's trying to convince me I should take over two nights instead of just swapping one.  _I_  say he's pressing his luck, especially since who was it who traded those two for one  _last month_?"

Okay, it was kind of hot hearing that high, teasing tone in Rachel's voice, even if it was directed at her father.

Rachel shifted on her feet, and Santana pulled back; keeping an arm around Rachel's -  _tiny_ \- waist, she moved around her, eyebrows raising as Rachel looked up at her when she stopped in front of her. Santana held out her free hand. "Gimme."

"What?"

"Gimme."

"Uhm…" Lightly biting her lower lip, Rachel sighed, shook her head, and gave up her phone. Santana took it and turned, dropping her arm to reach into her pocket for her car keys. "Mr. B," she started, Rachel tapping her hand and making her turn so she could catch her mouthed, 'LeRoy'. "LeRoy."

LeRoy's deep voice was bright, if a little surprised. "Santana?"

Santana unlocked the car, pointing at Rachel to get in the passenger's side as she bent, picking up her Cheerio's bag. "How about this," she deposited the bag in the back seat, reaching for Rachel's backpack as well, "Your daughter gets to spend the night at mine tonight and I'll  _personally_  ensure she's back for dinner duty tomorrow by overseeing it."

Rachel made a noise in the back of her throat the same time LeRoy laughed. "Is that your way of saying we should let you have Rachel over because you're going to have dinner with us?"

Shrugging, smirking, Santana tapped her fingernail on the back of the singer's bejeweled cell case. "Seems like you'd get more than a bargain out of that. I'm awesome."

Three minutes later, Santana hung up, cocky smirk in place as she handed Rachel's phone back once in the car and their stuff thrown in the back seat. "Too easy," she said, starting up the mustang.

Rachel stared at her, mouth agape, her brain going a mile a second. "Did you just… invite yourself to dinner… with my  _parents_?"

Santana looked over at her, raising a brow. "Parents love me. Your daddies are no exception. Just watch." Then she hit the gas, screeching out of the parking lot and nearly giving Rachel a heart attack, the smaller girl's hand flying to Santana's shoulder, gripping it hard. The Cheerio took pity on the singer, easing up and dropping down to a mere five miles over the speed limit instead of the original nearly 20.

When her heart calmed down, Rachel's grip eased, but before she could pull her hand back, Santana was taking it off her shoulder with her right hand, the left firmly on the wheel, and settled it on her thigh, loosely holding it with her own hand. Rachel blushed, biting back a smile as her heart picked up for completely different reasons.

"So… this sleep over… I don't have extra clothes, you know…"

Santana shrugged. "You can use mine." A smirk. "I'm sure I've still got something from when I was like 12."

"...Really, Santana?"

"Your tits are perfect, baby. But about the size of mine pre-op. S'okay. I like 'em."

Rachel didn't have a response, honestly. There were at least six different ways those sentences could have been taken and she was pretty sure she had been both insulted, complimented, and flirted with all in one go.

How in the world did Santana even…

She huffed, rolling her eyes and weakly trying to take her hand back so that she could cross her arms over her  _perfectly proportioned and acceptable_ breasts,  _thank you very much_. Santana didn't allow it, though, tightening her grasp slightly and winking over at her.

The rest of the ride was quiet, though comfortably so, and soon they were outside Casa de Lopez, Santana pulling up in the long driveway, her car (well, her uncle's) the only one present.

"I can't believe you convinced my fathers, and your own parents, that this was okay…" murmured Rachel as they climbed out.

Santana grabbed both of their bags without a word and hefted them up easily over one shoulder, her left hand free to grab her keys to get inside. "My parents totes trust me. Besides, they wouldn't want their poor mija to get lonely while they're away," she replied with a wink. "And your dads were more worried about your weird dinner scheduling than you being alone with me. Which, noted."

"Oh Barbra…"

* * *

Inside, the Cheerio lead them straight to her room, dropping the bags on the floor and pulling Rachel flush against her body in exactly two seconds, an arm wrapped around the petite girl's waist and a hand at the back of her head, guiding her into a sweet, heated kiss. Rachel couldn't even  _pretend_ to want to resist. She immediately opened her mouth, letting Santana deepen the kiss. Used to having to hold onto Finn's shoulders or directing him where and how she wanted him to kiss her, she didn't think she'd get used to having free rein with Santana - even after the past three days. So, as Santana tightened her grip around her, she curled her hand against her sternum and the bottom of her neck, her other sliding down Santana's side, feeling her body. The Cheerio  _definitely_ kept herself in shape.

But that wasn't exactly what Rachel wanted to think about now. No, now, she gasped as Santana turned them, walking her backwards with a husky, ragged, "Trust me," between kisses, she was more preoccupied with the way her heart jolted, heat blossoming in her lower stomach as she registered it was the side of Santana's bed the back of her legs had hit.

"Oh," she exhaled, meeting Santana's dark, shining eyes, the girl looking so sharp and predatory and flushed it was making her center throb, "S-Santana?" A stray thought flew through her mind:  _she was the one who made Santana look like this_.

"Shh. We're not gonna have sex, Berry."

Rachel was  _pretty sure_ that Santana pushing her onto her bed and settling between her legs did not at all translate to 'not having sex', and the little smirk on the Latina's lips that she could feel against her neck between kisses and nips was not reassuring.

Still, thus far Santana had been moderately respectful of Rachel's limits, and at no point had she kept going when the singer had said no, so…

Her concentration flew out the window, again, when Santana's soft hands took her own, pressing them next to Rachel's head and, almost  _gently_ , holding them there, fingers tangled together intimately.

The kissing continued, Santana's lips and teeth going from Rachel's lips to her neck, her shoulder, then back to her jaw and lips before switching sides, the whole time keeping the small girl firmly against the bed and their hands clasped. "God you're sexy," husked Santana, making Rachel shiver and buck her hips. The action caused the Cheerio to chuckle, pressing her own hips down hard against Rachel's, delighting in the little, breathy gasp it elicited. She shifted slightly then, notching her thigh firmly against the covered core of the girl under her, and Rachel moaned before biting down on her lip.

"Th-that's-"

"Not sex," Santana insisted, keeping her thigh in place and continuing to assault Rachel's neck.

Rachel whined, trembling to keep from grinding against the strong thigh. "You- are- d-dammit, Santana-"

Santana laughed, sharp teeth tugging at a particular sweet spot below Rachel's jaw. "Berrylicious, already pulling out the big girl language. I bet," she shifted her hips, leaning harder on her knees - and subsequently pushing just as much harder down, against Rachel, "If we continued, I'd be having you speaking in tongues."

More heat rolled through Rachel. Speaking in tongues obviously made her think of  _other_  tongue things. And Santana was so  _there_  and over her, covering her body, hand holding hers down, gently but obviously keeping her restrained, lips swollen and teasing, and so, so warm wherever they touched. It certainly didn't help both she and Santana were wearing articles of clothing that left their thighs free to touch: her a dress and Santana a skirt.

Santana's skin was soft. Her hair, splayed over Rachel's neck and collarbone as she moved, purposefully nudging Rachel's head to the side so she could get better access, tickled. She tried to focus on those sensations instead of the ones that… that made her feel like a helpless slave to her hormones. And Santana.

...Though the latter wasn't as bad.

"I think we lost you somewhere. I knows you like to live in that overworking brain of yours, but this works much better if you're an active participant." Santana paused, a wide smirk dripping through her words, "At least for now." She kissed Rachel's ear.

Rachel blushed deeply, the coloring going down her neck and under her shirt. The pull in Santana to follow that blush was near impossible to fight off, but she managed it, drawing upon an incredible level of willpower and self-control, reminding herself that she needed to keep things at Rachel's pace. Because the last thing she wanted was the girl freaking out or pushing her away in a panic. That would mean an end to the make out session, and that was a definite no.

The smaller girl gasped again as Santana ground her thigh forward and down, her nails biting into Santana's back and eyes fluttering closed, head falling back to the pillow and chest arching up against the cheerleader. She felt hot, needy. Nerves firing off and pleasure twisting tightly in her gut.

"A-are you sure this- Because it feels-"

"Believe me," Santana whispered directly into Rachel's ear, making sure she could hear her over the stuttering of her breath, "You'd know if we were having sex."

A whole myriad of images flooded the singer's mind as arousal flooded her panties, and the sudden flush of hot wetness on her bare thigh made Santana moan, the sound closer to a growl. Without hesitation the Latina straddled Rachel's thigh more firmly, grinding down with purpose and hissing in pleasure as she finally allowed herself some proper stimulation.

She was seriously about to dry-hump her way to orgasm on Rachel Berry's leg like a virgin, but fuck if she couldn't care less. Because Rachel Berry was about to do to the same on  _her_ leg, and they had all damn night.

Rachel's fingers scrabbled at the back of her shirt, catching on her bra. It wasn't much leverage - if anything - but it was something for her to concentrate on as she panted, unable to look away from Santana's face. This was really happening. With Santana. Oh god, what even  _was this_  -

When Santana's mouth suddenly pressed into hers, it automatically pulled another moan from her chest. Everything was hot, fast, so, so  _much_  and  _overwhelming_  that with every new thrust or kiss, Rachel felt like she could only hold on.

"You feel so  _good_ ," Santana husked, plump lips barely moving from Rachel's. Her grip tightening around Rachel's hand, still above her head, her other hand settled next to Rachel's shoulder, anchoring her as she rolled her hips. " _So_.  _Fucking_.  _Good_. Mmm… Spread those sinful legs of yours, baby. Push up into me."

Gasping, groaning as Santana ground down harder into her as, somehow, her legs did as Santana told, Rachel almost bit her own tongue as direct pressure rolled against and past her center, Santana's thigh so strong it was taking Rachel all she could to continue breathing. Taking the opportunity presented to her as Rachel dug the back of her head into the pillow, her neck arching up, Santana laid sloppy, wet kisses down her jaw and chin. She was panting directly into Rachel's ear, and that, more than anything, helped convince Rachel that this was real. Her dreams never added that detail.

Another slide and press of Santana's thigh, and Rachel's eyes slammed shut as she realized what it was she was feeling. Santana was...  _just as wet as she was_. "Oh god," she murmured, her voice catching in her throat, "Y-you…" She swallowed the rest of her sentence, a momentary flash of self-consciousness appearing.

If… If she could feel Santana, then…

Jerking her hand in Santana's grasp, her arm starting to get sore from the position and the beginning of a new desire she was starting recognize coming into focus in her mind, she swallowed, twisting, trying to get enough balance to sit up - well, at least, she tried to until actually doing so made Santana's thigh hit all the right spots to make her shudder and judder her hips.

The movement made Santana gasp and growl in pleasure as well, biting down onto Rachel's skin, barely remembering to pull back before a bruise could form. The feel of the smaller girl writhing under her was driving her insane.

When the girl pushed against her again, with what felt like more purpose, a rush of anxiousness slammed into Santana, her movements freezing. "W-what- Are you-  _Mm_. God. Too much?" she asked, as if suddenly realizing that she maybe should have - could have been more introductory, or, shit, asked more questions, paid closer attention to Rachel's comfort levels, or -

"C-can- On top? So I can- So I can touch you?"

Oh.  _Well then._

"Y-yeah. Yes. That. Definitely," Santana insisted, letting Rachel roll them over and biting back a grin as the singer settled on top of her, staring down with wide, eager eyes. Santana set her hands on Rachel's hips, sliding her thumbs over the creases and leaning up to meet the girl in a slow, sweet kiss. It continued for several moments, and, much to her annoyance, Santana realized that Rachel was hesitating to continue where they had left off. Her hands were roaming over the Cheerio's shoulders and hips, hips moving slightly on her abs, but…

Gently, whilst pushing down her sexual frustration, Santana broke the kiss. "Need to cool down, baby?" she asked, looking Rachel in the eye. She knew her own eyes were probably black with arousal, much like Rachel's. And she knew that she could almost definitely push things to get rolling again… But the initiative Rachel had taken to be on top was reassurance enough for the Latina that Rachel  _did_ want to be actively in on this. Eventually. The girl was obviously not quite all on board, though. Even if she probably didn't want to admit it in that moment.

Santana's assumption was, in her opinion, proven correct when Rachel bit her lip, looking down and clearing her throat as she tried to regain her composure. "I- I'm sorry. It's just… Oh God this is so embarrassing. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have-" A finger over her lips cut Rachel off, and Santana let out a husky chuckle.

"S'cool," she said, voice still rough with arousal. "There's no rush."

The relief in Rachel was palpable, and despite Santana's raging libido begging her to do  _something_ with the girl, she smiled as sweetly and sincerely as she could manage, lightly pushing on Rachel's hips. "Should probs clean up, though," she whispered, kissing just under Rachel's ear. "You're soaked…"

" _Santana_!" Rachel squealed, scrambling off of her and the bed, face flushed for entirely different reasons than only moments ago.

Santana just smirked, getting up as well, leaning down to kiss Rachel's nose before heading to her ensuite bathroom. "S'okay," she said, glancing back at Rachel, "So am I." Then, disappearing behind the closing door, she left a red, wide-eyed, and still aroused Rachel Berry spluttering.


	21. Chapter 21

Santana was pretty fucking sure Rachel had, if not taken care of herself 100%, at least done  _something_ about how wet dry humping with Santana had made her. She snorted. Dry humping. It had been everything  _but_. Santana had washed off the evidence not ten minutes ago.

Now, she grinned to herself, tugging on the waistband of her short shorts and tying her wet hair up into a ponytail to keep it off her neck and shoulders before exiting her room to make her way downstairs, she was going to start her low-key plan of making Rachel at least  _some_  level of excited all night long.

Pausing in front of the bathroom Rachel had scurried to, she rapped on the door.

A loud, cut-off squeak and cleared throat filtered through to her. "Ah, yes?"

"Seein' as my brothers're off with mi abuela for the week, we're  _definitely_  going to have the house to ourselves. Which means," Santana smirked, imagining the look on the smaller girl's face, "I'mma 'bout to scout the booze situation."

"It's a  _weeknight_!" Rachel's scandalized response didn't surprise Santana in the least. A second later, the bathroom door jerked open.

Santana's eyebrows rose. It had been unlocked.

Well then.

Still wet, dark bangs hung over Rachel's eyes, the singer's head and shoulders with a hand clasping her towel close to her chest all Santana could see. God, the girl's steamed expression only made her  _hotter_. Santana sucked her lower lip into her mouth, smirking at her.

Rachel's eyebrows drew together. "Didn't the Trainwreck Extravaganza teach you  _anything_? I am  _not_  - we are  _not_  going to drink on a school night, Santana."

Santana lightly patted her cheek, thumb briefly brushing along her cheekbone. "So cute."

"Th-that's not an answer!"

"Sure it is."

As Santana turned on her heel, having accomplished what she'd set out to do, she winked at Rachel over her shoulder. "Lookin' good, Shortcake. Gonna be joining me like that? Definitely not complaining."

Grinning at the noises Rachel made, hurrying to get back inside the bathroom as she walked away, Santana loped down the stairs. It wasn't like she  _actually_  planned on breaking into the liquor. She just liked what it did to Rachel's face and expression when she talked about the possibility.

Of course, she wouldn't say no if Rachel actually seemed up to it. She just highly doubted it.

Going ahead and checking the liquor cabinet in the study that held all the top-shelf stuff, before heading for the kitchen where the more often used spirits were chilled, Santana first detoured to the living room. Something told her Rachel would feel more comfortable after how heated things had gotten earlier with watching TV in a more open, "public" space, no matter if they were the only ones in the house. Grabbing the blanket off the divan and setting it strategically on the loveseat, she "casually" angled the bigger couch a couple of degrees off what would be comfortable to watch the TV from. To be fair, however, she left the La-Z-Boy as an option for the smaller girl because, honestly, the image of Rachel dwarfed in her papí's chair, was hilarious.

The next thing she did was make an executive decision to grab all the musicals, Disney movies included, from the DVD cabinet and stuff them under the couch. She loved musicals, and she could admit she more often than not loved Rachel's voice, but having to deal with the crazy-ass girl making a whole production out of it instead of gettin' her cuddles on with Santana… she was not down with.

She had just pulled out the takeout menus when Rachel walked into the kitchen. Straightening, Santana smiled widely at her. Her skin still glowing from the heat of the shower, hair darker and starting to curl at her shoulders, eyes shyly meeting Santana's as she stood a little self-consciously in flannel pajama pants that hung a little low on her hips and a tight fitting, faded Cheerio Bootcamp shirt, Rachel looked so beautiful it almost felt like Santana's heart skipped a beat.

But since Santana's heart  _didn't_  do things like that, she instead padded forward, meeting the other girl with menus in hand.

Rachel's eyes fell to look at the menus. "I'm… really not hungry yet," she smiled shyly.

"I know. But it doesn't mean we can't plan for later." Reaching out to gently brush a stray bang from Rachel's eye, Santana lingered, lightly tugging it. "I'm actually surprised you're not requesting some sort of bland, healthy, nasty-ass snack. Isn't that, like, your normal after school deal?"

Rachel smiled indulgently, pressing her cheek briefly into Santana's palm before she stepped away, Santana settling her hand on her own hip as it fell. "I must admit I'm a little peckish. But only for a,  _yes_ , if you must address it as such, though without the third descriptor, 'bland, healthy snack'."

God, it was criminal how plump Rachel's lips looked when she pouted or looked put upon.

Unknowingly mirroring Santana's thoughts, looking at Santana from below her eyelashes, Rachel fought the urge to pull the girl into a kiss, her gaze catching on the Cheerio's lips. She was still feeling a little awkward from before, after all. Add to that being for all intents and purposes naked under the towel when she'd talked to Santana not ten minutes before… it was amazing that the heat in her lower stomach had abated at all, now only simmering instead of roaring.

If she hadn't such iron clad bathroom rules - those for both her own house and others' - Rachel  _might_  have been able to do something about it. Trying to stop arousal, especially at such a high peak as it had been, not to mention how… wet and swollen she'd been, her fingers barely skittering across the evidence in the shower before she'd groaned and blushed and snatched her hand away, turning  _all_  of her attention and thought processes to expertly and impersonally cleaning herself… had been practically an insurmountable task.

The feel and sight and sound and smell of Santana, over and under her, not to mention the taste of her mouth and tongue and saliva, had frustratingly continued haunting her.

Santana was…

She was…

They really needed to have their talk.

In fact, they should have done so ages ago. Certainly before things had escalated to… whatever had just happened on Santana's bed.

_I was making out with Santana on her bed, dry humping… If freshman Rachel could see me now…_

The sound of snapping fingers brought her back to reality, and Rachel blinked, eyes focusing up to a smirking Santana.

"You with me, Rachy?" asked the Cheerio, raising a curious brow. "You looked like you were having some  _fascinating_ ideas."

Without thinking, the smaller girl moved into the living room to sit on the loveseat, clearing her throat. "Just… thoughts. About us."

Santana followed, immediately sitting down at the end and patting right next to her to invite Rachel closer. The singer did so, curling up against her side. "What about us?" asked Santana, tone remaining light despite her heart rate picking up. Mostly from anxiousness.

Rachel sighed, shrugging. "I suppose that's the question, isn't it? What are we doing? Where is this possibly going…?"

"Well, sex, according to you…" supplied Santana with a teasing smirk.

Rachel jabbed her in the side. "I won't  _disagree_ … But… what  _else?"_

Santana shrugged, eager to change the subject. ...Well, maybe not  _eager_ … Just… this was not what she wanted this night to be about. She pulled Rachel in closer, kissing the top of her head. "How about, we agree right now that we're both into one another. Right?" She felt Rachel nod against her chest. "And that we don't have any interest in macking up on other people, right?"

Again, Rachel nodded, chest squeezing in delight at the Cheerio's admission. That was practically Santana saying they were exclusive.

"So we'll see where this goes. Don't overthink it. You'll freak yourself out and end up singing a billion angsty songs about confused feelings and pining a la Romeo and Juliet."

"That's- ...Not entirely inaccurate… You didn't have to say it, though."

"Just speaking the truth, Starbright."

With a roll of her eyes Rachel let it drop, feeling the need to change the subject to something a little safer. "So… movies?"

* * *

"I don't know how you managed to convince me this movie was a good idea."

"It's Scream. Literally the least scary of 'scary' movies to ever exist."

"Ohgod!"

"Ow! Don't  _pinch._ "

"I didn't pinch! I grabbed!"

Rachel's grip tightened on Santana's shirt, face against the girl's shoulder as Ghostface appeared from behind the main protagonist, knife poised. Santana had to hold back a laugh, dutifully holding Rachel, who had migrated to practically on her lap as the movie had gone on.

The girl got away again, and Rachel relaxed slightly, returning her eyes to the movie and settling back more fully against Santana's body again. "I hate you," she said flatly, turning to glare at the cheerleader, who just grinned.

"You totes don't," was the easy reply, along with a poke of Rachel's nose. "But… I could always make it up to you…"

Red creeped up Rachel's neck, but tellingly, she didn't respond, instead tightening her grip around Santana's arm.

Santana chuckled, turning her hand over. Sliding it back to settle under Rachel's, she wrapped her fingers around hers, holding them lightly. "There're time for fingernails, and time for  _not_  scratching up Auntie 'Tana's skin, sweetie, thank you."

Hmmphing, Rachel laid her head back against Santana's shoulder. A couple of minutes passed, long enough for Santana to assume things were back to normal, Rachel tensing and squeaking at  _every single_ opportunity, it seemed like… when, at a lull in the movie, the smaller girl twisted, grabbed the back of Santana's neck, swallowed her, "Wha - " with a crushing, smirking kiss, and dug her fingernails into the sensitive skin at the base of Santana's head, catching and pulling her hair.

Santana let out a guttural growl, her libido instantly flaring and revving, her core clenching at Rachel's abrupt, teasing initiative. Snatching her hand away from Rachel's, she grabbed her leg, and, helped by the girl's surprised pliability, Santana soon had her straddling her.

"This wasn't… This wasn't what I intended," Rachel laughed breathily, hands buried in Santana's hair, having managed to pretty much take it out of its ponytail.

"Prolly should have thought a bit more afores you acted, then." Pulling back, lacing her hands on Rachel's lower back, Santana smirked at her. Her eyes drifted down to Rachel's chest, where Cheerio Bootcamp stretched across her breasts. Mmm…  _Fuck_. Any question about Rachel wearing a bra or not was answered. She leaned in, brushing her lips across Rachel's. While sexy as fuck, her hard nipples also illustrated how comfortable Rachel was around her.

Her eyes slowly opening as Santana sat back, Rachel studied her. "...Santana?"

Smiling, Santana shook her head. Spying the still playing movie behind Rachel's shoulder, she smirked, rubbing her thumbs up and down the small of her back. "This is the second time you've been on top of me today. I'm liking it.

" _Though_ ," she continued, pausing right before her lips met Rachel's again, the singer having melted into her front in preparation, arms around her shoulders, "Somehow I'm feelin' this is your way of gettin' out of watching the flick."

Rachel sputtered, mouth agape and eyes wide, her blush reaching all the way to her ears - - which only confirmed Santana's suspicions as far as she was concerned.

"I would  _never_!" the girl insisted.

"You totally  _would_!" shot back Santana, grinning and using Rachel's same inflection. Rachel tried pulling away, but the Cheerio's grasp on her hips stayed firm. "Nuh uh. You tried getting out of the movie with that pretty mouth of yours. Now you have to suffer the consequences." Her smirk was absolutely evil, a glint in her eye causing Rachel to shiver.

"S-San- I- I know that I- I mean I didn't intend to- EEK!" Fingers were digging into her ribs suddenly, moving up and down her sides and under her arms as Rachel squirmed and squealed, trying to escape the tickle attack. Finally, she managed to practically fly off Santana's lap, scrambling across the floor to get away and catch her breath; the Latina let Rachel go, laughing loudly and fully, almost falling off the loveseat herself.

Regaining her composure, Rachel stood, glaring intensely. "Oh, you have no idea what you've started, Santana Lopez-"

_Ding doong._

Both girls jumped as the doorbell rang, Rachel shrieking, a hand flying to her chest.

Standing, Santana pecked the shorter girl's cheek. "Dinner time," she chuckled, a hand gliding over Rachel's hip as she walked past, pausing the DVD on her way by. Rachel rolled her eyes, but headed to the door as Santana went to the kitchen to prepare their drinks - " _No_  alcohol, Santana!" "Yeah, yeah, already went over this, Repeat-a-Berry." - and grab what they needed to eat in the living room.

Opening the door revealed a girl in a slightly over-sized delivery uniform holding up their Thai takeout. The girl looked a little younger, maybe, with short enough hair to not be visible under her uniform's hat, and multiple piercings in her ears and a couple on her eyebrows.

Rachel smiled perfunctorily. "I hope the trip wasn't too bad. $21.76, right?"

"Yeah…" The girl glanced at the receipt on the bag, trailing off when she focused on Rachel. "Oh. Oh! I mean," she straightened, "$21.76, yes. And don't worry. Perfectly normal, uhm, calm drive. Thank you." She paused for a millisecond. "Cheerios, huh? I caught your last performance. Nice."

About to ask if the credit card Santana had set aside on the table near the door was okay, Rachel stopped. "What?"

"Your shirt? The bootcamp. That must have been  _exhausting_. I've heard your coach is a grade-A hardass. I have an e - uhm, friend who tried out last year."

The girl thought she was a  _cheerleader_?

"Wha- Oh, n-no. I mean I'm not. A cheerleader. I'm very flattered, though," Rachel rambled, giggling a little and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

The girl blinked, then cleared her throat. "O-oh. So you aren't- I'm totally sorry. I mean the shirt, and you totally look like you would be. I mean, really in shape and good looking," she stumbled out.

Rachel laughed again, giving the girl a bright, sincere smile. "You're so sweet! Again, I'm very flattered. I do maintain a very strict diet and exercise routine."

"Totally shows. Do you go to any of the gyms around here or…"

"No, no. I work out at home. Sometimes I go for runs, when the weather is good."

Nodding, taking back the receipt Rachel had just signed and fiddling with the brim of her hat, the delivery girl cleared her throat, "That's cool. I jog too, at the park sometimes. Maybe-"

"Rachel, what the hell is taking so long?" Santana came up from behind the singer, looking over her shoulder and raising a brow, giving the younger girl a very obvious once over. "And you are…?"

Rachel glared. "Santana! Don't be rude. She's delivering our food you know."

Eyes widening, the girl stared, face going bright red. "O-oh my God. You're Santana Lopez!"

Santana stepped up to stand next to Rachel, just  _slightly_ in front of her, arms crossed over her chest. "And this is my house, and that's my food. Anything else you'd like to point out to the gallery?" A slap to her shoulder, and she rolled her eyes.

The other girl shook her head frantically. "N-no. I'm sorry. I didn't know that- I mean I know you- not  _know you_ \- but you're sorta a lesbian legend and- I- I gotta go. Thanks for the tip! Have a great evening!" She scampered off before either of the older girls could get a word in, getting into her car and speeding out of the driveway in record time.

Rachel pouted. "I didn't even get her name… She was really nice." A wide, beaming smile. "She thought I looked good enough to be a Cheerio," she preened.

Santana glared in the direction that the car had driven off, then huffed, guiding Rachel back inside, closing and locking the door behind them. "Coach would actively try murdering you," was her reply.

Furrowing her brow, slowing down, Rachel cocked her head. "You don't think I look good enough to be a Cheerio?"

Santana turned to look at her. "I didn't say that." She set aside the food bag.

"You basically said it by omission."

"What?"

"What I said. I say someone thinks I look good enough to be a cheerleader, and you completely ignore that."

Santana stared at Rachel.  _Was… She's fucking_ _ **serious**_ _?_ "Okay, no. I can't even…" She shook her head, crossing her arms as she surveyed Rachel steadily, flatly. "If you think about it, what I said? 'Coach would actively try murdering you'? That's like acknowledging you're already on the team."

"That is  _not_  what that means!" Rachel didn't give. "I know I may not have the… What is commonly thought of as being the  _stereotypical_  attractive body, and though I may not be self-conscious…  _Most_  of the time… It would be nice to be - -" She searched for a word, finally settling on, " _Appreciated_."

" _Appreci_  - what the  _hell_ , Rachel? There are  _so_  many things wrong with what you're saying I don't even know where to start!" Groaning loudly, Santana lowered her head, barely stopping herself from rubbing her hands over her face; instead, once she collected her thoughts, she looked back up, taking a determined step forward. She lifted her hand, poking Rachel's chest. Ignoring the girl's protest via dramatic exhalation, she lowered her voice, "Okay.  _Fine_. You really want me to do this? Then  _listen_.

"You're hot, Rachel. Attractive. Beautiful. Whatever you want to hear, it ain't a lie. Think I'd be all up on you if I weren't attracted to you? I thought we'd already been over this.

"And you know what? I've had Cheerios. Yeah, plural. I'm the farthest from a saint you can find, but that's not the point. No, you know what is? I  _like_  the fact you're not a Cheerio. Sure, you could be on the team. You're small and athletic enough to be a jumper, and I know for a  _fact_  Sue had thought about recruiting you before you turned out to be, her words, 'an insufferable Barbra diva with illusions of grandeur better spent far, far away, no matter the talent we're losing'. That's right. Sue had to recruit at least  _two_  other girls to make up for not having you."

Santana's words echoed in the room, and Rachel blinked, having to swallow before she could whisper out, brows furrowed as if she couldn't believe what was coming out of her mouth, "You like that I'm not a Cheerio?"

"Oh for -  _of fucking_   _course_  you focus on that!"

"I'm just… Forgive me, Santana, if I'm having trouble rationalizing this. I'm just trying to understand. You don-"

Santana cut her off. "I  _do._ You're  _stupidly hot and attractive and different_  than the sniveling unoriginal underlings I have to put up with every time I enter the Cheerios locker room _._ Okay?  _Okay_? Have we made this  _clear_?"

Silence reverberated around them, long enough for Santana to start wondering if it was always going to turn out this way. However, just as she was going to call the whole night a bust and figure out some way to salvage  _any_ of it - with or without Rachel – the girl nodded, moving forward to brush her lips across her cheek. "Thank you, Santana," she smiled, softly squeezing her hand, "But next time, please remember you don't need to be so patronizing." Then, with another squeeze and light kiss to her cheek, Rachel moved past her.

At that moment, Santana could have hit something - probably her head to the nearest wall. Sure, Rachel seemed satisfied, smiling and skipping her way to the living room, but that just left the Cheerio alone to mentally strangle the girl in frustration.

God  _dammit_  if Rachel still didn't  _infuriate_ her sometimes! Hell, what made it even worse, Santana wasn't even sure if Rachel had realized the delivery girl had been  _flirting_  with her - or even  _checking her out_ , at the very least. "S'all that fucking baby dyke's fault… Jesus fuck…" Taking several deep breaths, the cheerleader returned to the living room as well, setting the food on the coffee table before untying it, wordlessly beginning to divvy it up.

There was a somewhat stilted silence between them as they began eating their respective meals. Rachel wondered if she had gone too far while Santana plotted the various ways to get the singer's mind completely off what had happened and back to recognizing how fucking awesome she was and how perfect their lips were when they were getting their sweet lady kisses on – because that was much, much better to think about.

Finally, internally groaning, Santana realized she'd have to pull out the big guns. "So… I  _may_ have, like, Mary Poppins, or something. Wanna switch over to watching that?"

Rachel's attention, bright eyes and brighter smile, were immediately back on the Cheerio, much to her enjoyment. "Oh my gosh yes! I love that movie. It's a classic. And Julie Andrews is a legend in her own right,  _of course_. I mean, she's not  _Babra Streisand_ , but really, is there anyone  _other_  than Barbra Streisand who could even hope to  _match_ Barbra's - "

"Rachel. Breathe."

Obediently, Rachel snapped her mouth shut and breathed in through her nose, exhaling slowly.

"Good. Now gets your eats on so wes can cuddle and watch Mary Poppins fly away on her umbrella into the sunset."

"That is an extremely trivialized description of the plot, Santana."

" _Eat_."

With another huff, Rachel once again obeyed, and, feeling pretty smug, Santana felt much more confident about how the night would go.

* * *

Rachel was laid out on the loveseat, snuggled into Santana's side with her legs and waist under a blanket and Santana's hand resting on her waist, warm and happy and comfortable, when she realized, in the middle of Bedknobs and Broomsticks ("Why, Santana! You're a closet classic Disney fan!" "Shut it. I am no such thing. Younger Angela Lansbury was mighty fine for an older woman."), what had most likely triggered the older girl's earlier attitude. Then, if that wasn't bad enough, with a groan as she settled more weight onto Santana, she remembered her oblivious reaction.

"Fallin' asleep?"

"What time is it?" Rachel asked instead, her phone resting on the coffee table too far away to grab.

Santana sighed but obliged finding out, pausing the movie before reaching above her head to retrieve her own phone on the arm of the couch. With a swipe of her thumb, she nodded and placed it onto the coffee table. "Mmm… If I tell you, you're gonna make us get up and go to bed."

"We'd have to get up regardless. I am  _not_ falling asleep  _anywhere_  without brushing my teeth. Besides, you know my insistence about my bed regimen." Rachel poked the cheerleader's abs, then glanced down, laying her palm flat. ...Santana had amazing abs. She had to stop herself from splaying her fingers out, trailing along her stomach.

Stroking up Rachel's side, bringing her attention back to the conversation, Santana grinned down at her. "But you're so comfortable… And hey, whaddya know. My tits are perfect pillows. You should want to use them. Everyone does. This is your chance."

Rachel curled her hand safely into a fist, shaking her head. "Honestly, Santana. You can't tell me you'd be comfortable sleeping on this... what did you call it last time? 'Ratty couch'."

Santana smirked, nodding in the direction of the slightly skewed couch. " _That's_  what I was referencing.  _This_ is more doable."

"Fine. I can see there's no use talking about this now. But I still want to know what time it is."

"You're actually willing to cut a movie - not to mention  _musical_ , short? Isn't that, like, unheard of, a mortal sin, in Berry Land?  _And_  you," Santana grinned, poking the tip of Rachel's nose, making her make a face and huff, "Are  _also_  letting a conversation go? Who are you, and what have you done with Rachel Berry?"

Wrinkling her nose, Rachel ducked her head, pressing her cheek into Santana's upper arm. "One could say that about much of what we've been up to." When she looked up, seeing Santana's raised eyebrow, she sighed, rolling her eyes, "What  _I've_  been up to." She allowed some vulnerability to enter her voice, a small, shy smile turning her lips up. "You're much more than… With you, I don't feel like the Rachel Berry I'm used to."

"And you like it…?" Santana prompted, smile still teasing but somewhat softened.

Rachel was glad she seemed to realize what it was she had meant with her, as she thought of it, clumsy words. She nodded. "Paraphrasing you, I want to see where this goes. Mmm… Where I go, I guess, is more appropriate."

Resting her head back, humming as she gazed up at the ceiling, Santana's arm around her briefly tightened.

When she didn't say anything for as long as Rachel could stand, Rachel pushed herself up, looking down at her. Deep brown eyes met her own, and her heart calmed when it didn't look like Santana was suddenly regretting everything - even if she hadn't responded in kind, like Rachel would have preferred. She studied Santana's face, once again struck at…  _Her_.

"When you're done ogling me like it's the first time you're noticing that I'm the hot shit I am, are you fixing to kiss me or steal a look at my phone?" Santana's amused voice startled her, making her gaze come back to meet hers.

Hot shi -  _must_  Santana always be so crass? "Why are you asking?"

Santana lazily shrugged. "'Cuz the way I sees it, one's an amazing, awesome idea. The other's one that would just illustrate how not fun you are."

Rachel glowered at her. "I am  _too_ , fun!"

Santana's smirk sharpened. " _Funny_ , yes. Not always  _fun_."

"I will have you know that I-" Rachel was cut off unceremoniously by Santana's lips on hers and two strong hands cradling her head, holding her in place. She did, for the sake of her dignity, try to ignore the kiss and keep her lips tightly closed, but Santana was patient, and ever so skilled, and within seconds the singer loosened her lips and let Santana's tongue enter her mouth, moaning into the kiss as it deepened. And it  _ended_ much too quickly too, Rachel decided as Santana pulled back a couple of inches. That insufferable smirk was back, but considerably softer, and Santana's eyes were… well… definitely darker.

"Mmmn… maybe a little fun," the Cheerio husked, her hands sliding down to the small of Rachel's back, quite close to her ass.

"So I'm only fun when I'm kissing you?" asked Rachel, her tone teasing and light, almost completely devoid of the earlier anxiousness.

Santana's smirk became a small smile, leaning in to kiss the girl's neck, hands moving down to the curve of Rachel's ass. "Extra fun when you're riding my thigh and whimpering my name."

Rachel snorted, pinching the Cheerio in the side, earning her a pinch to her ass. She squeaked, jerking, and Santana pulled her tighter to her body.

"Speaking of…"

" _Bed_ ," insisted Rachel.

"Oooh, wanna lay down for this, hm?"

"Oh for- sleeping, Santana Lopez," clarified Rachel, looking down at Santana with a firm gaze.

Santana relented, rolling her eyes. " _Fine._ But you're changing into shorts."

Rachel didn't look particularly impressed by the 'order', but she didn't argue. It wasn't as though she didn't enjoy as much skin-to-skin contact as possible with the girl. She craved it sometimes, actually. Besides, she had to allow, thinking logically as well, something told her that shorts would be more comfortable with sharing body heat during the night.

Twenty minutes later, newly dressed and sitting a little awkwardly on the side of the bed, tasting the leftover mint in her mouth from Santana's mouthwash, Rachel rested her hands on her knees. It didn't feel right not saying  _something_ about their earlier tiff before going to sleep. Even if the green numbers of Santana's digital clock flashed at her from across the room.

"You're not in bed yet," Santana commented, closing the ensuite bathroom door behind her. Jumping onto her bed, she crawled over, ending up sitting next to Rachel. "Why? Cold feet? Forgot what side of the bed you used last time? Which was neither, by the way. You took over the middle."

Rachel smiled at her somewhat darkened shape. While she had better than average eyesight, it didn't completely transfer over to seeing in the dark. "I've been told I do that." Shifting back, Santana following, she pulled the covers up and slid in, Santana sliding in after her.

"Spent much time in others' beds, huh?" Santana smirked, wrapping around her.

It didn't take long for their bodies to adjust, and, once settled in as little spoon, warm and comfortable and heart beating just a  _little_  faster than normal, Rachel lightly pinched Santana's arm. "No," she spoke over Santana's protest, having to smile as the cheerleader squeezed her in lieu of getting back at her another way, "I used to spend the nights I had nightmares with my fathers. I would end up draped all over them. I can't believe it must have been comfortable to them, especially when I went through my night terror phase, but they loved me enough to put up with it." Her voice softened, happiness easing her breathing. This time she was sober -  _they_  were sober - and spooning, wearing small shirts and shorts, limbs entwining… It was a lot more than cuddling on the couch.

What was probably worst was that Santana probably knew  _exactly_  what she was doing. Not to mention her bed smelled like her perfume and body lotion and that, even without the physical contact, was enough to make her body tingle.

It was probably a good thing that she'd never gotten this far with Finn. With this being her first experience sharing a bed with someone (after having agreed that there  _was_  a relationship of sorts with them)... it made it more special, she thought.

Santana hummed. "Props for the Daddy Bs."

"Did your parents ever do something like that for you?"

"Not really." Exhaling naturally, Santana settled in a little better than before. "I wasn't the nightmare type."

Rachel smirked. "Explains the horror movie collection."

"Explains the horror movie collection."

Deciding nothing more needed to be said about that subject, Rachel relaxed, closing her eyes. A couple of minutes passed in comfortable silence, Rachel drinking in the feeling of Santana breathing behind her, and suddenly she found herself breathing out, "...Comfortable."

Santana stroked a ticklish part of Rachel's stomach with her thumb, making her squirm, "Hmm?" Amusement colored her voice. Sleepy and relaxed, it was like Santana was a completely different girl than who Rachel had known for most of her life.

"I  _said_ ," Rachel emphasized softly, wrapping her hand around Santana's, pulling it back up to her waist, "I can't believe this is as comfortable as it is. With our antagonistic past..."

"We've always had physical chemistry, Berry."

"Yes, but…"

Santana lifted her head, pressing a kiss to Rachel's ear. "You're overthinking again," she chided, "Stop it." Once Rachel shivered at the feel of her hot breath against her ear, she settled her head back.

Rachel knew she was right, but it didn't mean she wanted to completely let it go. She opened her eyes, gazing at the light glow coming in through the bedroom window. "What if I wanted to talk about it?"

"Easy. You don't."

"But what if I did?"

Exhaling dramatically, Santana tensed the arm she'd placed under her pillow, pulling it out so she could support herself on it; she half-sat up, peering down at Rachel. "You know what? It doesn't surprise me in the least that the girl who  _made_  us go to bed wants to spend half the night talking instead." She leaned down, brushing her lips on Rachel's forehead, below the line of her bangs. "Just can't stop that mouth of yours."

Rolling over slightly, Santana loosening her grip to help facilitate the movement, Rachel found herself looking up at the older girl, facing her for the first time since they'd gotten into bed. "I feel like," she started quietly, hesitant but mustering the courage to continue, "You're the one who, well, likes it when I… use my mouth."

"For macking, really." Rachel could hear her smirk, "I could give or take you talking."

"It's telling you didn't mention singing," Rachel pointed out. She blindly reached out towards the darker shape above her, both relieved and disappointed when it turned out to be Santana's arm. She traced up her forearm and bicep, the two slightly flexed to keep the girl up.

Santana let out a slight exhale, arm swaying a little closer to her hand. "Like anyone could ever stop you from singing. Even if someone gagged you, you'd still be able to put those powerhouse lungs of yours to work."

Bolstered by the ease of the banter, Rachel raised a brow, knowing Santana would maybe be able to somewhat see it, "As you say, 'wanky'." The laugh that erupted from the taller girl in response made her blushing worth it, the sound reverberating against her own body. Rachel realized in that moment, as corny as it sounded, that she'd probably do just about anything for that laugh to be  _with her_ , not against her.

"Wanky indeed," Santana finally said, calming down and lowering back down, pulling Rachel closer against her body, the girl's head resting just under her chin. "Could make it more wanky, though…"

There was a pause, and Rachel couldn't resist, "Am I really pretty enough and athletic enough to be a Cheerio?"

"W- Are- Oh my god  _seriously_?"

Rachel shifted again, looking at Santana with a pout illuminated from light from the window. And Santana was sure that- well, she wasn't actually sure of anything right now except that Rachel's pout should have been illegal and that she really need to put this ridiculous conversation to rest for good. "Are you going to let this go if I answer straight up? And gets back to talking about how sexy my lips on yours are?"

"...Maybe. To both," was the eventual reply.

"You are totes  _smokin'_ and  _more_ than in shape enough to be on the Cheerios. Like I  _said_ like  _ten thousand_ times tonight. And  _my_  opinion means more than some random piss-ant  _delivery loser's_."

She could definitely see a little, pleased grin from the singer, who turned back in her arms and snuggled back into her. "Excellent. Time to sleep."

Santana exhaled in annoyance, pinching Rachel's stomach in a show of revenge, but it went mostly ignored, and not five minutes later Santana could hear the girl's breaths even out and the smallest, lightest of snores coming from her slightly parted lips. "...Fucking ridiculous," she muttered, huffing.

Still, she curled up possessively around Rachel's body, pulling them completely flush and tangling their legs together before closing her own eyes, eventually drifting off as well.


	22. Chapter 22

"It's a good thing I did laundry recently," Santana remarked. Flipping through her closet, looking for something for Rachel to wear, she looked over her shoulder at the girl still bundled up in the bed.

"Otherwise…?" Rachel yawned, rubbing a hand along her cheek and hair, absently trying to pat down her bangs.

Santana smirked at her, then turned back to the dress she'd paused at, studying it before shaking her head and moving on; it wouldn't do enough to show off the younger girl's sexy as fuck legs. "Otherwise… you'd have to pull a Rocky Horror Picture Show and show up to school in your granny panties."

Rolling her eyes, Rachel settled back against the headboard, pulling the covers up to her chest. "I have never once worn… granny panties. Your obsession with me wearing them, and probable imagination… daydream… hallucination- _fantasy_  of me wearing them, does not translate to real life."

"Ooh, I'm liking this attitude, Tiny." Grinning as she pulled out a pullover, Santana tilted her head, pretending to look it up and down as, instead, her mind filled with images of Rachel, clad only in high cut bikini panties, splayed out under her on her bed.  _Mmm…_ With memories of last night and waking up with Rachel buried into her chest, body pressed tightly against her, it wasn't hard to, as Rachel had said, fantasize.

In fact, if the shorter girl hadn't been pushing down against her bladder, Santana might have made the fantasy somewhat true. Rachel under her, shirt pushed up to just below her breasts - as much as she  _really_  wanted to see them, get her hands on them, and taste them, the girl wasn't ready for it and Santana was  _not_  a fuckboy, dammit - to expose her flat stomach and giving her a good look at her underwear low on Rachel's hipbones… Santana was glad to give up her latest Victoria's Secret's purchase if it went to such a fucking good cause. Especially when someday she'd be able to strip it off her herself…

"I'm not wearing that."

Brought back to focus, Santana glanced at what she was holding, then laughed, nodding and letting the garment go. "As hot as that would be," she agreed, reaching for a more modest shirt and skirt combination, "I don't think the masses of McKinley High could  _deal_  with the sudden appearance of a  _second_ Super Sexy Berry.

"Still," she grinned, looking at Rachel again, winking, "You totes could pull it off."

Rachel, unchanged from a mass of bedhead and pink cheeks, smiled at her. She pulled the comforter away from her mouth. "You think so?"

"This little old thing?" Santana pulled the halter top - black, with an angled cut to show off the vast majority of the stomach and nearly sheer - back in front of her, taking it off the rack. She held it up.

Rachel smothered a laugh, the back of her hand pressed against her lips. "Emphasis on  _little_. It's really not… my thing."

Santana snorted. "You think?" Padding towards the bed, she lowered onto it, pressing the outfit teasingly against Rachel's body, over the comforter. She had to stifle a laugh as scandalized, dark brown eyes met hers. "What? You're not even going to try it on? For me?"

Huffing, Rachel weakly batted Santana's hand away. She couldn't stop a smile, however. "You'd like that, I'd imagine."

"Did I say I wouldn't?" Santana made a show of leering at Rachel, wiggling her eyebrows. She presented the top to the singer again.

Halfheartedly placing a hand on it, if only to stop Santana from pushing it at her again, Rachel craned her head to look at the clock. "It's not like we have too much time. School starts in less than two hours."

"Pfft. As if you're gonna spend over an hour in the bathroom. And even if you do, I's gonna be here to break in and pull you out, naked or… Semi-naked."

Rachel rolled her eyes, giving Santana her 'look'. "I'll lock the door."

"Because I totally can't pick locks."

A huff, and Rachel finally got out of the bed, neatly setting aside the covers before straightening her shirt and shorts and stretching.

Santana watched unhindered, eyes dark, licking her lips and once again feeling a slow burn start in her gut. She seriously had to get distracted. Or get Rachel naked - but that wasn't one of her realistic options just yet. Instead, "Go shower and do your thing. I'm sure I can find  _something_ sexy nerdy. ...Maybe a costume from 4th grade."

"You're insufferable."

* * *

After a ten minute discussion about how leftover food was fine for weekends but  _not_  for fostering a brain healthy school morning, and another ten minutes spent watching Santana show off some honestly impressive cooking skills, Rachel and Santana had a filling breakfast, made sure all their homework was accounted for (at Rachel's direction), and slid into the Mustang.

Ten minutes after that, they were at McKinley.

"No."

"C'mon."

"Santana."

" _Rachel_."

" _No_."

"You know you want to."

"What makes you think I have  _any_  interest in blowing off our morning classes, incurring even  _more_  detention, I might mention, to spend it in the back of your car? Aside from the obvious admission that I find you and your…  _charms_ … more than nice… that's not enough."

Grinning, Santana finished leaning in; her arm slung around the back of the passenger seat, she could almost  _feel_  Rachel's will wavering, her eyes darting back and forth from Santana and the bustling parking lot around them.

"It… It doesn't matter how tinted the windows are. We are  _not_  going to fool around like…"

Santana brushed her hand along Rachel's forehead, lifting her bangs from her eyes. It was adorable (and more than a little ego-swelling) how Rachel was attempting to pretend like she wasn't affected by Santana's proximity. "Like two healthy, sexually active - or soon-to-be sexually active - high school hotties?"

When Rachel looked at her, Santana raised her eyebrows. "You's can't tell me you're not tempted. Me an' my 'wiles'?"

"Of course you'd remember that."

"Mind like a steel trap."

"For your blackmailing, I'd imagine."

Santana rubbed her thumb along Rachel's cheekbone. "You know me. That's so sweet." To her delight, red seemed to trace the motion.

Softly clearing her throat, Rachel looked down, her hand coming up to push hair behind her ear. It glanced off Santana's palm, and she started, straightening her shoulders in a transparent attempt to convey being unaffected. "Sweet talk all you like," she muttered, eyes meeting Santana's again. She hurried out, "No back seat action."

"But it would be so  _fun_ …" Santana purred. She removed her hand.

Somehow Rachel could still feel the warmth of it against her cheek, and she swallowed thickly, dutifully ignoring the many, many signals that her body was trying to send her about why it was definitely a great idea. It wasn't; her head and her heart knew that, but why oh  _why_ did Santana have to be so… so  _hot_?

The Latina leaned in, her hand settling on Rachel's knee, lips barely a breath from Rachel's own, and husked, "Come on… just a kiss… or two… maybe three. Maybe we can lose count."

 _Unfair,_ thought Rachel, but she was already closing the distance between them, somehow knowing Santana wouldn't do it herself. It started soft, slowly growing to the addictive heat that the singer was so enraptured by every time she and the Cheerio kissed, and she didn't even mind that Santana's hand had traveled slightly up to her thigh. Still a 'safe' location, but…

Then, long before Santana was ready for it, Rachel pulled away, only an inch or so. "Time for school," were her whispered, slightly shaky words, and then the smaller girl was out the door, rolling backpack in hand and headed for the front doors.

Santana blinked, then licked her lips as she watched Rachel's ass appreciatively. She couldn't even be mad. The girl was just too damn hot for her own good; especially when she got all… 'stand up for my convictions'y. Not to mention it would make the next time much more interesting and thrilling…

"Fuck… I wonder if those panties I gave her are as wet as I think they are…" A small smirk traced over her lips as she settled back into her seat and spread her legs, shamelessly putting her hand between them and groaning at the slight relief the pressure gave her.

Rachel may not have trusted the dark tinted windows, nor been comfortable pursuing some personal fun in the parking lot. But Santana had no such qualms, and she was way too worked up thinking about sliding her fingers into Rachel's wetness in the back seat of her uncle's mustang to even remotely care.

There was still a half hour until the first bell. More than enough time to lose herself in some fantastic fantasies, and  _still_ have time to meet Rachel inside and walk her to class.

Had to keep up the wooing, after all.

* * *

"Hey, cutie."

Rachel jumped, spinning around, back to the locker, then snorted when she realized who had been behind her and was now leaning next to her. "Get distracted, Santana?" she asked, voice teasing and cheeks slightly tinted, as though she knew what the Cheerio had been doing for the last fifteen minutes.

Santana set her palm against the cool metal of Rachel's locker, next to her head, leaning in and looking far too smug. "Can you blame me? You in one of my skirts? Didn't think it was possible for your ass to look  _better_. But what a thing to be wrong about."

"You sound like Noah, you know. You're even doing the 'jock leaning' thing. Again."

The sound that came from Santana's mouth, utterly insulted and affronted, made Rachel nearly choke on a laugh. Especially when combined with Santana's disgusted face.

"Oh you did not just compare me and my moves to  _Fuckerman_."

Rachel shrugged, casually turning back to her locker and reopening the door, now that Santana had straightened up again. "If the shoe fits?"

Still internally fuming over her bruised ego, Santana grunted, practically pouting as Rachel removed the books she needed. Once finished, the singer turned back to Santana, stepping up to her with a small smile, leaning in close. "But… for the record… You're  _much_ more attractive when you get all… possessive… It made the end of last night that much more enjoyable…" Then she quickly pecked Santana on the cheek before scurrying away, giggling to herself and blushing fiercely.

It was several seconds before all the cogs turned quickly enough and the pieces clicked into place and Santana's raised voice came up over the din of the crowded hallway. " _That's_ what all that  _crap_ about being upset was about!? Berry! Fucking- get the fuck back here, Berry!" The bell rang and she glared at the students staring at her. When they hurried off, Santana settled, rolling her eyes and fighting back a small smile.

The little fucking brat.

 _So… so fucking hot…_ "And such a damn attention whore…"

Good thing Santana was  _all_ about giving the smaller girl attention.

By the time she was in her morning class, sitting next to Britt and only vaguely listening to the teacher drone, she was already plotting how to get back at Rachel. She had thought Rachel knew better by then than to play those head games with her… but if not… well… They shared a lunch and a free period, and her hands were just  _itching_ to press Rachel against a solid surface and make her just as hot and needy and  _frustrated_ as the singer seemed to like leaving her.

Brittany glanced over to Santana, immediately knowing what the sharp smirk and smug glint in her best friend's eyes meant. And had a good idea of who the intended was.

She leaned over, whispering to Santana, "Psst… S... "

Santana started a little, turning her attention to Brittany with a soft smile. "Sup, Britt?" she whispered back.

"Are you going to have sexy closet time with Rachel later? 'Cuz I wanted to drag Artie in there too but if you wanna…"

Swallowing the reflexive gag that came with the reminder that Britt and Wheels were dating again, Santana cleared her throat. "Not the closet, Britt. You get dibs."

Brittany grinned, leaning back. "Oh good. Cause it's the only one big enough with a lock for Artie's chair and it's way too hard to sneak him into the Cheerio's locker."

Another automatic grimace - ugh, she needed to get that out of her system, she was almost sorta friends with the idiot by this point - and Santana shrugged. "Yeah, I bet. But no I totally have plans. Just not in the janitor's closet."

Satisfied, and willing to wait to hear about any hot details she might be willing to share later, Brittany went back to doodling in her notebook.

Just as happy as her friend to let the conversation die, Santana's smirk only took a few moments to reappear.

Lunch could not come fast enough.

* * *

After three classes, two of them spent burning coals into Rachel's back and face, the girl doing an admittedly good job of ignoring her, Santana was beyond ready to push her into the nearest bathroom to get a good,  _long_  go at her. For a girl Santana had done her best to have as little in her life as possible for so long, it was almost pathetic - but not because Santana was  _not_  pathetic - how much Santana wanted her hands on her.

What wasn't pathetic, at least, was how much  _Rachel_  wanted her hands on her, too.

Santana's eyes flickered towards the clock. Five minutes. She pulled out her phone.  _Hope u dont have plans 4 lunch or free period. Ur mine in 5 mins_

From her seat near the front Rachel felt her phone buzzing softly between her thighs, tightened them to dampen the sound more (not that their half-deaf teacher had even remotely noticed), and sucked in a sharp breath, back straightening.

There was only one person in the whole school, or town for that matter, that texted her in class. And she was sitting right behind her; had been burning holes in the back of her head all day in every class they shared. The smoldering kind of burn that made her stomach twist and heart speed up in a mixture of anxiousness and pruriency.

She didn't dare check her phone. Even when it buzzed again.

The bell rang, everyone eagerly rushing out of their seats, some to lunch and others to their next class. Rachel grabbed her things quickly, swiping up her phone in one swift motion as she stood and practically speed walked to her locker without a single look back.

It wasn't until she had put her books away and was pulling out her lunch that she felt hot breath on her ear and a warm body pressed closely to her own.

"Oh no, sweetberry, you're coming with me." It was Santana, voice low with lust and full of heat.

Rachel felt her throat constrict, hand frozen in mid grab for her lunch bag. "I need to eat lunch, Santana," insisted the girl, much more calmly than she felt.

Santana slid a hand up Rachel's thigh, fingers just barely brushing under the edge of the skirt. "Shoulda thought about that sooner. Now we can do this the easy way… or my favorite way. Choose."

There was no telling what Santana had in mind when she said 'favorite way', and while Rachel was sure the girl was not primitive enough to try and throw her over her shoulder… No, no. She was not going to risk the sheer levels of creative torture Santana could have in mind. She'd eat in her free period.

"F-fine," she said, unable to keep from the slight stutter. "Where are we going?"

A warm hand laced into her own, and Santana pulled Rachel away, closing the locker door and locking it with her free hand. "Oh you'll see. S'gonna be a  _great_ hour and a half…"

* * *

"We can't go in-"

"I'm a Cheerio."

"And I am not!"

"And?"

Santana dragged Rachel into the locker room without another word, past the rows of red lockers and into another side room full of towels and extra uniforms. Like most of the doors in the school, it had a reverse lock, god only knew why, and the cheerleader turned the latch the second the thick door was closed behind them.

Rachel looked around, having not been in this part of the locker room when Santana had let her shower off slushy, noting a fairly long table, shelves upon shelves of clean towels, wash rags, uniforms, even some sheets? Linens, for the most part, from what the singer could pertain.

Santana came from behind Rachel, pressing their bodies together and none-too-gently pushing Rachel against the edge of the table, forcing the girl to put her hands on the top to steady herself as she was partially bent over. Strong hands gripped her hips, and teeth nipped at the skin of her neck.

"Naughty… naughty… naughty…" husked Santana, kissing the spot just under Rachel's ear. "Leaving me all alone in my mustang to touch myself, only the thoughts of your delicious ass and sexy as fuck legs to help me with all of my…  _tension_ …" She tsk'ed, pressing Rachel's upper pelvis harder against the table's edge. "Lucky I like naughty girls, Berry… Otherwise I'd have to  _really_ punish you."

An absolute flurry of imagery flooded the forefront of Rachel's imagination at Santana's words, their position only adding to the vividness. A shiver raced up her spine as a flush of red reached under her neckline, and the singer bit back a whimper.

Santana chuckled, using one of her hands to slide up under Rachel's shirt and flatten her palm to the girl's stomach, digging in her nails lightly. She'd had  _weeks_  to think about getting a chance to do this – or at least  _something_  like this. She rubbed her hip. Dip into her fantasies… "This time, you get a choice," she continued. "Make it up to me, out of the goodness of your heart so to speak. ...Or get on my thigh, and ride it hard until I let you stop. Sounds fun, right?"

Rachel swallowed, a ragged breath leaving through a tight throat. Her body betrayingly thought it sounded fun. Too fun.  _Oh my goodness_. "W-What's making it up to you?"

Leaning in, cheek pressing into Rachel's, flattening her hair to her face, Santana stroked her hand up and down Rachel's stomach.  _Fuck._ The girl was practically melting into her. "You have an imagination in that head of yours, Strawberry. And I'm sure…" She turned her chin, settling closer, lips almost brushing along her cheekbone, "You already know what I'm talking about. If you truuuuly think about it." Rachel tilted her head, pressing into her, and Santana smirked, knowing Rachel could feel it. "You left me high and not-so-dry, having to take matters into my own hands… That was rude."

"...Rude?" Rachel didn't feel in control of her voice anymore. It was high and wavery, like she could barely get her words out. Too much heat between her legs.

...Heat made worse by the idea - the  _memory_  - of riding Santana's thigh.

Rachel whimpered. She couldn't do it again, could she? Not… Not  _here_.

"That's right." The hand on Rachel's hip shifted, knowledgeable fingertips heading down, almost slick on the expensive fabric of the borrowed skirt. " _Incredibly_  rude."

Rachel's breath caught again. Her hands on the table curled, fingernails biting into the wood. Santana was so hot on her back… That fuzzy feeling in her head was seeping in again.

She pushed back against Santana, swallowing hard. "I… I want to face you. Please," she said, voice a little more confident.

Santana let her turn, instantly pressing against the shorter girl once again and kissing her directly. Rachel relaxed into the kiss, and Santana took the time to cool herself down a little. She had realized belatedly that she was moving things rather…  _fast_ , so to speak. Rachel wasn't telling her to stop, and was definitely responding to her, but switching up her initial plan  _slightly_ was in order. No way was the short singer ready to finger her.

"What do you choose?" she asked, barely breaking away from Rachel's lips to do so.

"W-wha- Oh- R-right." Rachel shifted her head, nuzzling against Santana's neck and kissing up to her jawline. "Let me apologize," she finally replied. "Just tell me how."

Rachel's mouth on her was warm and soft and more arousing than Santana would have thought it to be, no matter how much body chemistry they had. Licking her lips, Santana closed her eyes, throat vibrating as she made a happy noise. As much as she enjoyed Rachel grinding and humping against her, she'd kind of, in the few moments since she'd altered the plans, been hoping things were going the way they were going. "Spread your legs," she murmured. When Rachel froze, pulling back, Santana softly rolled her eyes, placing her hands once again on the singer's hips. "You have a good perch on the table, yeah?" she looked down at her, sliding her hands down so her palms were on the table.

Rachel glanced down, then met her eyes again. "I… I guess?"

"So spread your legs. Tense one or the other, I don't care, pushing up on your toes."

Twisting, trying to rearrange a little with her ass solidly against the lip of the table, Rachel, face pink and lips already a little swollen, looked up at her. "O-okay…"

Surveying her body with a critical eye, Santana allowed a slow, wide smirk to take over her mouth. "A'right. Keep that leg tense.

"If we had more time, even," Santana continued in an almost educational way, moving closer again, tightness settling needy and expectant in her belly as she straddled Rachel's leg, arms sliding around Rachel's shoulders, slowly, purposefully rolling her hips forward, directly onto Rachel's leg, "I'd show you how to…  _Mmm_ …"

"M-move with you?" asked Rachel, arousal making confidence pour hot through her as Santana rolled into her. She swallowed, turning her head to kiss, lightly nip at Santana's throat.

"Fuck,  _Rachel_ ," Santana gasped, grinding down harder, eyes nearly rolling back in raw pleasure. "Such a damn  _minx_ …"

At her words, Rachel barely stifled a moan, almost bucking. Instead, stomach jolting as hot breath puffed against her neck, pride filtered in, spurring her on, and she flexed again, using her hands to guide Santana's hips; though somehow she knew that unlike when Santana did it to her, there was very little exchange of power. She certainly didn't feel like she was in control of the Cheerio, but really couldn't bring herself to care, either.  _Ohhh_ …

Then, she felt Santana's hands trail down her back, to back up her sides, nails grazing over her ribs, just under the curve of her breasts. Rachel's breath hitched, Santana's husky chuckle ringing quietly in her ear. "You have no idea… how  _insane_ it makes me, thinking about touching you here. Feeling your tits in my hands, soft… perfect size..." She slowly dragged her hands down, then back up, never moving past the 'safe point' as she rode Rachel's thigh steadily.

Rachel shivered. "R-really?" she asked, voice more desperate than self-conscious.

"Fuck yes," Santana replied, rolling her hips hard, the top of her own thigh pressing just barely against Rachel's covered heat. "Haven't even seen them and I know your boobs are perfect."

"Do it," Rachel spoke, her words surprisingly unwavering.

Santana paused, tensing, then relaxed again. "Say it clearly," she said.

The singer bit her lip, but repeated, more verbosely, "T-touch me. My breasts, San. Please?"

"Jesus… Over shirt?"

"Yes." Swallow. "Yes. Do that."

Another low chuckle, Santana nuzzling her cheek. "You are so sexy when you get so needy like this… God fucking damn."

A half bit-back response of, "You're the only one who's ever made me feel this  _needy_ ," lengthened into a wordless, low moan when strong, knowing hands abruptly cupped her breasts, Santana pausing, almost trembling, on a down stroke on the lower part of Rachel's thigh.  _Oh. Another reason to be glad Santana is the first one. She… She knows what she's doing._

"... _Fuck_ ," Santana husked, nose and mouth pressing into Rachel's cheek, hot breath exhaling down her neck as she slowly - so sloooooooowly - squeezed, practically drinking in the hitch in Rachel's own breathing. "This much," she purred, pelvis starting up again in a stuttering, stunted hump, wetness finally making its way through her spanx pressing solidly into Rachel's naked thigh, "Your nipples… Even just over your shirt,  _fuck_."

Santana was incredibly fond of that word, Rachel found herself thinking even as long fingers stroked down, palms cupping and massaging her breasts, so good even over shirt and bra. As crass as the liberal use of the f-word was… Rachel couldn't make herself think it wasn't attractive in its own right. Especially at times like these. Instead, she found herself asking, drawing Santana's dark, aroused gaze back to hers, "Th-they what you thought?"

Santana's mouth slammed into hers. "There's the  _needy_ again," she whispered, tongue slipping in between Rachel's lips. Still, she couldn't keep from smiling. The singer was a stupidly perfect mix of sex and adorable. "But… to answer… They're  _better_ …  _So good_."

The bell for the end of lunch rang out right as Santana ground down exactly right, squeezing Rachel's covered breasts in both hands as she bit down on the girl's shoulder and came.

It wasn't necessarily hard, or strong, but it was on Rachel's thigh, in real life, not one of her fantasies, and fuck did it feel  _fantastic_.

Rachel was sure she nearly came herself, feeling Santana's thighs tighten around hers, hips jerking hard and rhythmlessly. Her bare thigh was wet from Santana's soaked core, and-  _Oh my god. Santana Lopez just came on my thigh. She_ _ **orgasmed**_ _on my leg._ If possible, she felt even more turned on than she had before.

"Mmmn… Yeeessss…" murmured Santana, riding out her orgasm and relaxing happily into the afterglow. She still felt amped and ready, but sated enough to get through the next 45 minutes just… well…  _teasing_. "Good girl," the cheerleader said, voice thick and tone pleased. "Such a good girl…"

Pulling back, staring into Santana's dark eyes, Rachel panted as she studied her.  _That really happened_? Her thigh unconsciously flexed, seeking out the feeling of Santana's orgasm.

Plump lips curved up, and, strengthening as energy came back, Santana nipped at Rachel's lower lip, unwilling to yet let her pull back completely. "Paying me back…" she slowly smiled, "Mmm. That's a good start."

"A  _start_?"

Grinning, watching her, Santana laughed. Settling back, sliding off Rachel's leg with a low, almost not-there hum, she gave Rachel's breasts one more squeeze, raising her hands to cup her shoulders instead. She leaned in. "So cute. You can't be thinkin' that's 100% payin' me back, hmm?"

Rachel stared at her.

"And there's that wide-eyed innocent  _flustered_  look I's been expecting." Knocking her forehead to Rachel's, Santana pecked her nose before sliding smiling lips down to hers, humming gladly as Rachel's mouth immediately opened, letting her in. "It's okay," she murmured, fingers threading their way into Rachel's hair, pulling her closer, "We'll ease into more."

* * *

Twenty five minutes before the end of free period, Santana sent Rachel into the private shower next to hers with a slow, passionate kiss and strong, teasing squeeze of her hips. Extremely weak and turned on, her core burning and soaked, panting and practically shaking, Rachel barely made it into the obscenely perfect hot water before her hand went between her legs. Her hand trembling, pressing for only half-a-second before she snatched it back, she groaned, dropping her head and letting the shower stream down her bangs and face.

Santana was Satan incarnate.

With her hands and mouth and tongue (both the physical and the synonym for language), the cheerleader knew  _exactly_ what to do to exploit the excitement thrumming through her whenever she set sights on her.

And after she'd gotten herself…  _Off_  on her leg and cupped, squeezed her breasts, kissing and nuzzling her, hands cupping her face to lead her into a series of soft, affectionate, embraces, Santana had pulled her from the table to the closest bench. Sinking down, leading Rachel onto her lap, she'd scoffed at Rachel's hesitant comment about being too heavy and locked her arms around her waist, burying her nose in her hair as Rachel rested into her neck. "'S a good start," she'd husked, stroking her thumbs along Rachel's back, "And normally I'd press for a  _lots_  more, but something tells me that'd scare you off just yet. Right?"

And Rachel, hand softly curling around her forearm, had slowly relaxed into her, breathing in the spicy scent of her heated skin and perfume and  _self_. "Thank you," she'd admitted, somehow feeling like it was okay to admit as such. She remembered thinking how nice it was for Santana to be so, seemingly,  _understanding_.

Especially about things so...  _Sexual_.

And especially when she practically felt the need to take a shower after every time the cheerleader so much as  _looked_  at her.

Except… It didn't help her stop wondering if, beyond the mutual sexual exploration and how  _amazing_  everything felt, she would ever stop feeling like… Like beneath it all, everything was a challenge she had to win. Or get in front of.

"You're thinking too hard. Again."

Santana's voice cut through Rachel's thoughts, and she blinked, eyes focusing back on the girl whose side she was resting against, having shyly taken the seat next to her with five minutes left until the first bell. Rachel sighed, gave her a small smile, and went back to relaxing her head onto the cheerleader's shoulder.

Mercifully, Santana didn't press.


	23. Chapter 23

Santana revved up the Mustang, waiting for Rachel to flounce her way out to the car, an almost _soft_ smirk on her face. She was going to make Rachel cum _so_ hard. The locker room orgasm had been fantastic, and Santana was all about the giving; especially when the recipient was Rachel. The girl in the midst of orgasm was probably going to be… - Santana almost wanted to gag just thinking it - _breathtaking._ And she hadn’t even really gotten to _do_ anything yet.

Just thinking about the day she’d finally be able to lay Rachel out on her bed, take her time, make the singer feel completely coveted and appreciated… “Fuck… I gotta up my game. Rachel and sex are two things that _need_ to come together…” Her smirk twitched into a grin at her own pun, and then the passenger door opened up, a rather annoyed Rachel Berry sitting down with a huff and closing - practically slamming - the door.

Santana looked over, raising a questioning eyebrow, and Rachel visibly sank into the seat as tension weighed on her shoulders. “My head is going to explode long, long before Regionals…” she finally mumbled, closing her eyes.

Santana leaned over, kissing Rachel’s jawline as she rested a hand on the girl’s upper thigh. “Hard detention? Lemme help?” she asked, purred, really.

Rachel barely kept from tensing, but gently put her hand on Santana’s, stopping the Cheerio from moving it closer to the apex of her thighs. “S-Stop teasing. I’m serious.”

Santana chuckled, moving her hand down to a more appropriate location on the girl’s leg, kissing her cheek. “M’not. Orgasms are fantastic. Very stress relieving.”

“Santana…”

Finally, the older girl rolled her eyes to hide her confusion (because didn’t Rachel _want_ to feel good?), squeezing Rachel’s knee before taking her hand in her right after shifting into drive and making her way out of the parking lot. “Just saying. I could have made you cum so… _so_ fucking good, Tinkerbell.” She winked.

Rachel swallowed hard, squeezing Santana’s hand and letting out a slow exhale. Mentally she simply repeated the words “You can resist” over and over again. Her thoughts from before had finally settled into something that made more sense, and she had tentatively decided. She was going to win this game. And if not, give everything she had into keeping up.

* * *

The Berry house was still empty of fathers Berry, and Santana had every intention of taking advantage of that. Yeah, in _theory_ they had to start dinner and whatever, but that’s what multi-tasking was for.

Rachel was already in the kitchen, going through the binder that was the monthly meal plan to find the meal for the night. It was a pasta night, which meant, she believed, lasagna. Or was it ravioli? The girl frowned, flipping one page back and forth. It had obviously been a misprint, but she could not for the life of her figure out which one was the actual dinner for the evening.

Santana watched Rachel from the counter, leaning with her lower back against it and arms crossed, biting her lip and trying not to laugh at the intense look of concentration showing on the smaller girl’s features; tip of her tongue poking out, brows furrowed, a pout trying to turn her lips down.

God, the things she wanted to do to the girl.  Some of them weren’t even sexual even.

“Aren’t you even going to offer me a drink?”

Looking up from the binder, Rachel blinked. “I… Oh. I’m sorry! I was just distracted a little. Mmm…” Her eyes drifted past the cheerleader, who was doing a good job of looking altogether too attractive just… _standing_ in her kitchen, towards the refrigerator. “What would you like?” Catching the wide, vulpine smirk spreading across Santana’s face, she flushed, “And _no_ , ‘ _berry juice_ ’ is not on the menu.”

Santana straightened, sauntering closer until she was a hand’s length away, smiling amusedly at her. “Are you sure?”

Rachel shot Santana an unimpressed look.

“You wouldn’t have mentioned it if it wasn’t already on your mind,” Santana pressed; Rachel couldn’t tell if she was seriously prodding or finding and expressing real amusement.

Her question was, essentially, answered when Santana pressed their bodies together, Rachel’s back to the counter’s edge behind her. The singer flushed, looking away, and Santana nudged the girl’s chin up with her own. “The shy act would work better if I hadn’t just sexed you up mere hours ago in the Cheerios locker room,” she teased, voice light and kisses equally so.

Rachel couldn’t understand the game Santana was playing. Was she pushing? Was she just having fun? Was it meant to be at Rachel’s expense or neither of theirs? Was it even a game?

She had thought… hoped… they were beyond all of this, and yet…

“I need to make dinner, Santana,” she insisted, the feeling of déjà vu hitting her. “Kindly allow me to move.”

But the taller girl remained, one hand pressed to the countertop, the other teasing the edges of Rachel’s skirt. “Wanna make you cum,” she said simply, nipping at Rachel’s neck.

The singer nearly melted right there, a shiver going up and down her spine and her nerves tingling, the apex of her thighs warming. “San…” More kisses, a few nips, and Rachel struggled to maintain some sort of power position, though it felt like an impossible task. “My dads could--”

“Rachel! Santana? We’re home early!”

The sound of the front door closing jarred them both, and Santana backed away, winking, slightly flushed herself. “Later,” she husked, making Rachel swallow hard.

A promise? A ‘threat’? Both all at once? The suddenness of her apparent inability to understand what Santana was getting at was extremely unnerving, and her fathers walking into the kitchen, all smiles and bright eyes, was a welcomed relief from the confusion.

“Daddies!” she said, a little higher and louder than she meant, but easily turning it into an overjoyed greeting instead of one purely of shock. Giving her fathers a hug, one after the other, she dropped back to allow Santana to nod and smile, giving a, “Hey, Misters B. Told’ja I’d have her here.”

LeRoy smiled at her. “That you did,” he patted her shoulder as he walked past, reaching up into the wine glass cabinet.

“Daddy?”

“He’s had a hard day,” Hiram sotto voce answered, his hand in front of his mouth, winking at Santana and Rachel.

“Ugh, the _worst_. Well, honey? Santana? Either of you like some wine?”

Rachel shot a quick, wide-eyed glance at Santana. Sure, she had indulged in some with her fathers before, but this was the first time they’d ever offered around… well… Rachel would have said someone in her acquaintance, but Santana was the first person _to_ be at her house for dinner, let alone for a second time.

…And now she was reminded, once again, of how lacking her social life had been. Great. And the fact that it was _Santana_ who was the first one over? That was still hard to believe.

She managed a smile. “I’ll, well, maybe. Santana?”

As if reading her hesitance and flash of maudlin, Santana pursed her lips, turning her attention to LeRoy. “What do you have?” She walked over to join him in front of the wine closet.

Taking the opportunity to sidle over, taking up the spot the other girl had occupied, Hiram smiled broadly at his daughter. “Look at you! Santana’s, I suppose?”

 _Oh god did she have lipstick on her face or something_? Rachel’s heart jolted.

Luckily, her father continued talking before she gave herself away by slapping her hand to her mouth or erupting into a giant, hot blush, “She really does have an eye for fashion, doesn’t she? Nice that she took the time to find something to play up your strengths, too.”

Rachel furrowed her brow. “Dad?”

“Hmm, honey?” Hiram tilted his head, chin in the palm of his hand.

“I thought you liked the way I dressed?” She did her best not to give away that she _wasn’t_ actually insulted, settling her arms across her chest and looking expectantly up at her father. It was actually endearing - out of her dads, Hiram had _always_ been the least concerned with the “stereotypical” fashion side of being gay. This meant, obviously, Rachel really _must_ look a lot… _more_ than usual.

Narrowing his eyes, Hiram opened his mouth, ostensibly to deny, but then laughed, shaking his head. “Almost got me,” he grinned at her, squeezing her shoulder before sliding his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a sideways hug. “Did you have a nice sleepover?”

Wrapping her arm around her father’s waist, Rachel smiled, nodding, doing all she could to keep her immediate _dirty_ thoughts to herself. “Thank you for letting me stay over.”

“About time you started acting like a normal teenager,” Hiram teased, “Don’t worry about it.”

Before Rachel could come up with an appropriate response, Santana appeared, two wine glasses in hand.

Oh, right. Her fathers had offered Santana _alcohol_. She bit her lip, Santana raised an eyebrow in turn, and with a small sigh Rachel took the offered glass, looking at it questionably.

She took a sip, then smiled. Rhine Street Sweet Red, her favorite.

“Nailed it, right?” asked Santana cockily.

Rachel snorted. “My father helped you.”

Indignance colored the Latina’s features, a hand going to her sternum. “You _doubt_ me?”

Another sip, Rachel merely smiling as she moved to where LeRoy was messing with the meal planner. “I saw you ask him, and saw him point it out.”

The roll of Santana’s eyes was very satisfying, and it grounded Rachel to know that, in terms of banter at least, she could still keep up no problem.

Santana couldn’t help but-- no. No. She did not _swoon_. It was… some other feeling of affection, and amusement. And maybe being slightly turned on, all at once. But swooning was not in her vernacular. Ever.

Hiram nudged her, looking down with a grin. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

Santana sipped her wine, eyes not even attempting to stray from Rachel as she and LeRoy argued over whether or not it was ravioli or lasagna or something else altogether. LeRoy looked equally as serious and passion-filled as Rachel did about the whole thing, and she could not even - wasn’t he supposed to be the normal one? Comparatively?

As though reading her thoughts, Hiram grinned. “Contrary to popular belief, Rachel is definitely _both_ of us.”

Sipping again, biting back a laugh as the two both huffed and crossed their arms in perfect unison, Santana could only shake her head. “So how long will this last?”

Hiram checked his watch. “Mm… I’d say… Another minute. Then LeRoy will make a compromise, Rachel will negotiate, and they’ll decide on something completely different from the start of the month. I’m rooting for the stir fry. Rachel makes a mean stir fry.”

As predicted, only a couple of minutes later, stir fry was, in fact, settled on. Though from what Santana could tell it was more Rachel pulling out the infamous pout and LeRoy giving in.

She couldn’t even scoff about it. She _knew_ she had fallen for the exact same damn thing.

_That fucking pout… It should be illegal._

Her glass was half finished when she sidled back up to Rachel as the Berry men exited the kitchen to change out of their work clothes, and she wrapped an arm around the small girl’s waist, kissing her cheek. “M’gonna buy you an apron,” she said.

Rachel rolled her eyes, but couldn’t keep the small smile off her lips. “Mmn, is that so? You seem to be implying this will not be a onetime occasion, Santana Lopez.”

“Depends… I was promised a ‘mean’ stir fry. Gots my doubts, though.”

“Then by all means,” Rachel shot back, tone still light and now with her equally infamous competitive edge, “Step back and watch the star at work.”

As Rachel set her wine glass down and began pulling out items from the fridge, the sheer level of _domesticity_ smacked Santana in the face. She nearly choked, covering it with a gulp of wine and turning to go back and sit at the island.

She needed to refocus. Sexing Rachel up, making her laugh and blush and squirm. Getting shy smiles and tentative touches. That was one thing.

Playing _house_ was another, she told herself.

And it was stupid just how unconvincing she sounded, even in her own head.

Because this was _not_ \-- She _didn’t_ want to--

 _Did_ … she…

Santana shook her head, shoving all of that to the far, far depths of her mind. They had already had this _talk_. She and Rachel were, currently, exclusive. She was totes gonna hit that in the future. And she totes preferred a happy Rachel over a diva-mode or crying Rachel.

Whatever. She shook herself. That was more than enough sap for now.

Thankfully the Berry dads returned, inviting Santana to the living room to watch House Hunters International, and Santana took the opportunity to make a clean escape without feeling weird about leaving Rachel in the kitchen alone.

The girl looked like she was in her zone now, anyway.

* * *

“Okay. Fine. _Fine_. It was fu-fricken’ delicious. Stop looking _smug_.”

Next to her, smiling ear to ear, Rachel did not in fact stop looking as smug as she felt. “I told you so,” she said.

“Rachel.”

“You didn’t believe me.”

“ _Rachel_ …”

“And now--”

A hand landed on Rachel’s thigh, under the table and out of view from her fathers, who were at the sink starting on dishes. Santana squeezed, digging in her nails just enough, and Rachel snapped her mouth shut.

 _Rachel’s thigh_. Under her hand. The same one, in fact, that she’d ground one out on earlier. It was strong and warm and soft and Santana could hear a hard exhalation leave Rachel’s nose, the singer’s way of getting across what she felt without words.

It made Santana wonder if that’s what she’d get if she ever gagged the girl, or fucked her somewhere they had to be silent… As if following her thoughts, Santana’s hand _sloooowly_ slid higher up her leg, just enough to push against the hem of her skirt.

Rachel’s dark eyes sparked at her before her jaw tensed, and she dropped her head, hands tightening around her mug of, as the Papa Berries had referred to, after dinner tea.

Santana smirked. Well well. She wasn’t telling her to stop. “You know,” she lowered her voice, glancing towards the kitchen to watch for either of the two men turning around, their conversation easily hearable, “As much as it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside that you’ll _finally_ listen to me when I tell you to be quiet, you sure you want to be keepin’ this here?”

As if on cue, LeRoy, barely turning away from the sink, called over to them, “You two still up for dessert?”

Santana smiled broadly. Her fingers stroked back and forth. “I’ve been good this week. Sure. _Especially_ if it’s as good as you said it was going to be.”

“Hun?”

Rachel cleared her throat, smiling purposefully, “I’ll always ‘be up’ for your dessert, Daddy. You know that.” Then, without a word, she stood. “Here, let me help. The triple fudge vegan cake, right?”

Santana watched, brows furrowing, fingers still flexing under the table where Rachel’s thigh had been.

Hadn’t they been about to…

She narrowed her eyes at Rachel, unnoticed by the two men fussing around the kitchen to get plates and silverware, all but burning holes into the girl’s back. _Yes_ , she had totally wanted cake too, but if Rachel had hinted about heading up to the bedroom to get their mack on, which Santana had been _sure_ was where things had been going, _obviously_ cake could wait.

She schooled her features when a slice was set in front of though, noting that Rachel sat no closer nor further away than she had before. Rachel wasn’t even ignoring her, either. She was just…

The Cheerio let it go. If something was up, Rachel was prone to word vomiting about it.

Also, triple fudge cake.

…

Apparently even vegan cake could manage to taste like heaven.

* * *

“So, are you staying the night?” LeRoy asked curiously, drawing two new cards. Studying them for a second, he put them into his hand.

Santana shrugged. “Beats the alternative. Hiram, queens.” When Hiram grumbled, slipping her two queens, she grinned, slapping the complete set of four onto her points pile.

“What’s the alternative?”

“She means there’s no one else at her house and is too ‘badass’ to admit she doesn’t want to be alone,” Rachel explained, smiling toothily at Santana’s glare, shaking her head when she was asked for eights.

LeRoy stifled a laugh. “Is that true? You’re too ‘badass’?”

“I’m more badass than your ass,” retorted Santana, tossing a four at Hiram, “But unlike a ferret-mulled jock we all know, I don’t feel the need to _say_ it. I just am.”

Tapping his chin, Hiram looked at her over his glasses. “I’m assuming you’re talking about the Puckerman boy?”

“The one Rachel dated for a week?” LeRoy added.

Rachel huffed. “Didn’t have to mention that.”

Santana remembered that. It had been hilarious at the time, but the thought of it happening now made her forehead crease. “Yeah. You should _see_ his latest monstrosity. I want to vomit whenever I look at it. I don’t know who told him having an unkempt landing strip on his head was attractive, but they should be shot.” Slipping Rachel a jack when she asked for it, she made a face, “I am _so_ tempted to break into his house and shave it off while he sleeps. God knows I still know where to step to not make the floor creak.”

LeRoy’s eyebrows rose, but all he did was hmm. “No, I’m pretty sure we’ve seen it. Both our families semi-regularly go to temple.”

“And it _is_ terrible,” Hiram chimed in; he turned to his daughter. “Good thing you broke up with him when you did, if that was an example of him having a good idea.”

“I thought you were Catholic?” Santana broke in, not sure what to make of the expression on Rachel’s face, “I mean, LeRoy. I know Barbra over here identifies as Jewish, but she’s always talking about ‘being a product of two different backgrounds/stations/worlds/something, blah blah blah’.”

Accepting three jacks from Rachel, LeRoy smiled. “Technically practicing Catholic doesn’t mean I can’t support my family one day out of the week. It’s the _least_ I can do.” Placing four jacks onto his own points pile, he folded his cards onto the table, laying his hands on top. “How about you?”

That was a good question. “Growing up Roman Catholic didn’t really prepare me for how to reconcile being religious _and_ gay at the same time. Since I’m currently… staying away from the church and… some of the _people_ who make up the congregation of the church, I guess you could say I’m a ‘technically practicing Catholic’, too.” And that was a _lot_ more than Santana had planned to say. There was something about the Berry men that put her at ease. That was annoying. And dangerous.

And too much like their daughter, damn it.

A soft hand touched her forearm. Santana ignored it for the time being, not wanting to look away from LeRoy in case it was seen as weakness. Sure, the topic of the conversation was shit, but she’d been slowly making peace - honest to god peace - with her new reality. It sucked, but she couldn’t change it.

LeRoy nodded, a small, commiserating smile on his face. To his credit, when Hiram shifted next to him, Rachel’s hand gently squeezing her arm, his eyes didn’t so much as flicker towards them. “St. Francis Xavier?”

That’s when Santana’s gaze dropped; her fingers minutely flexed, gripping and ungripping the cards still in her hands. “Mmhm.” She’d been going to St. Francis Xavier Roman Catholic Church ever since she could remember, it only when the Cheerios started, complete with weekend morning practices, that she hadn’t worshipped every Sunday morning, every week, every year.

Rachel hadn’t moved her hand away, but aside from being warm and a little heavy, it wasn’t… uncomfortable?

Thankfully, LeRoy distracted her from that… weird thought… when he neutrally continued, “Are you interested in continuing to practice?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

“Well, and there’s no right answer or pressure, mind you, if you were, I would be happy to introduce you to my church.”

“It’s a very welcoming place,” Rachel added before Santana had fully digested what her father said, her fingers sliding barely noticeably along Santana’s wrist.

Santana turned to her. “You would know?” The question came out a bit more curtly than she intended, but Rachel didn’t seem to mind, a soft smile coming to her lips, eyes gentle under her bangs.

“You don’t think I ever accompanied my daddy to church? I didn’t grow up exclusively Jewish, Santana. I went through a period of time where I decided I wanted to make an informed, logical and spiritual choice. The priest, Father de Acuña, is a lovely, genial, open minded man, who was happy to work with me, even though I’m sure near the end of my exploration it became clear I was leaning more towards the Jewish faith.”

Santana’s lips curled up. “And you were how old?”

The smile she got back was positively radiant, unashamed in the least. “I was seven.”

...God dammit. Somehow, the image of a small girl, all elbows and knees, head too big for her body, interrogating a priest, was cute.

She filed that away to never think about another time.

Santana felt like she was supposed to say something in response - either to Rachel or LeRoy - but instead she found herself caught trying to figure out how she felt in the first place _to_ be able to respond.

“You don’t have to answer now,” LeRoy gently said, drawing Santana’s attention back to him; he picked his cards up again, looking at them and glancing up at her, smiling, “Just throwing it out there.”

“Mmm. Thanks.” It _was_ a nice thing to do. Especially since the man _wasn’t_ , really, overstepping. It was a weird feeling to realize she really couldn’t find an angle he could be playing, either.

Patting her wrist, finally pulling away with a quiet knock of her knuckles on the table, Rachel retrieved her cards as well.

Hiram spoke up, smiling at Santana, then proudly at his daughter and husband, “Alright! Whose turn was it?”

Santana rolled her neck, glancing down at her cards and pushing them into one hand before reaching for her glass of water. Taking a sip, she pointed at LeRoy.

“Oh, that’s right.” The man grinned, waiting politely for Santana to set her glass down before asking if she had any fives.

Making a face and flicking a card at him, Santana glared playfully at Rachel, who had giggled lightly. She leaned in. “Watch out, sweetie. I’m coming for you next.”

“I’m sure.” Grinning, Rachel turned her attention back to her fathers.

Little brat. Lowering her hand to wipe residual moisture from her water off on her thigh, Rachel caught it in hers before she could pull it back up. Ignoring the jolt in her chest, and quirking her lips up enough so Rachel could see it in her peripheral vision, Santana squeezed back.


	24. Chapter 24

"And then of course Rachel  _needed_ to have them. Didn't fit her at all. But goodness knows it was  _those_ princess faery wings that were the  _perfect_ ones."

Santana laughed, Hiram grinning and LeRoy snorting behind his mug of tea. The last hour had been largely spent at Rachel's expense, but she took it in stride. After all, for once it seemed like Santana wasn't- Well, no, obviously the Cheerio was laughing at her. Just… not so maliciously. And thankfully some of the awkwardness that was inevitable when regaling about her childhood (such as the fact that Santana was present for a good portion of it, in the form of… unfriendliness) was easily smoothed over by the general lack of knowledge her fathers had about the details.

Rachel blushed when Santana, who was sitting next to her in the loveseat, an arm casually thrown around her shoulders (did the Latina know? Was it on purpose? Was it merely subconscious?), pulled her against her side more firmly and tried regaining her composure.

"Jesus- You-  _And_ the pink and sparkling tutu?"

LeRoy grinned, nodding. "And the tutu. She was certainly the most noticeable little star in the performance."

"I was  _the_ star, Daddy," insisted Rachel, puffing out and pouting. "Anna and Lisa didn't even  _like_ ballet. They only took it because their mothers wanted them to. Which is a waste, I think. If you don't have a passion for performance of any school, then don't do it. Forcing it upon young minds simply breeds hatred." As though to prove her point, she went on. "They're both on the softball team and -" she stopped, realizing that she was about to reveal a little too much about the inner workings of the hierarchy, and swiftly recovered with, "Well, let's just say they both would have been better had they started softball earlier than 6th grade."

The Berry men nodded, sipping their tea in unison.

Santana was visibly relaxed, but mentally her brain wouldn't stop. She was grateful that she wasn't being immediately judged for being an asshole, but…

It shook her up a bit, seeing it right before her eyes, Rachel flawlessly not  _lying_ really, but withholding information from two fathers that she clearly adored and who clearly adored her. And she had been doing this for  _years_. Possibly since she was old enough to comprehend what bullying was, and how it affected her dads as gay men and then herself as their daughter and-

Uncomfortable images of that same, small, adorable Rachel Berry not so smiley and bright entered her mind. Big grins as she tittered on and on about her "friends" in class, and probably sharing markers and playing at recess and god, Rachel, Santana knew for a fact, barely had any actual experience with that. She would have told her dads what she saw other kids doing.

Santana's gut twisted, a ridiculous surge of protective instinct swelling up in her chest for a little girl that wasn't little anymore.

If she could go back and just knock 7 year old Santana in the head and fucking-

"Santana?"

Shaken from her thoughts, the Latina blinked, looking at Rachel. "What? Say something, sprite?"

Rachel rolled her eyes, mumbling something about it 'being rude to ignore her in front of her fathers' before saying, again, "Dad and Daddy were just saying goodnight to us."

The Latina looked to the two men, smiling, giving a small salute with her left hand. "Night, Berry Dads. Don't do anything crazy up there."

That earned her a slap on the shoulder and an embarrassed, "Santana!"

The two men laughed all the way up the stairs to their room, leaving Rachel and Santana alone in the living room.

Rachel glared at her. "I can't believe you said that."

The grin stayed. "Yeah you can." A beat. "You seriously can't think they don't go at it like rabbits."

Rachel was instantly off the loveseat with her hands over her ears. "No. Nope. No. I am not hearing this. LALALALALA-"

Santana's laughter returned full force, nearly sending her to the floor as she watched Rachel vehemently block out any of her attempts to get her attention.

Finally, standing up, Santana took Rachel's hands and brought them away from her ears, holding them firmly. The smaller girl kept her eyes closed and the verbose "lalalalalalalaaa" up, right to the point where Santana leaned in, pressing her back to fall onto the couch behind them, and kissed her before so much as a "San-what-" could properly leave her lips.

Immediately the singer all but melted under the Cheerio's body, tension vanishing and hands gripping softly at her shoulders.

They continued the slow, almost gentle kissing for several moments, before Santana pulled back with a small smile on her lips. "Clear your head?" she asked, teased.

"I don't like you sometimes," replied Rachel, voice quiet, completely lacking any force behind her words.

Santana took it in stride, pecking Rachel on the nose. "You do. Enough that in the next two minutes I could have you moaning and gasping my name, right here on the living room couch."

Something shifted then, and Santana watched as Rachel's body stiffened again and her eyes wouldn't meet her own.

"We need to get to bed. We still have school in the morning." Before the Cheerio could get a word in Rachel had maneuvered out from under her and was already half way up the steps.

Santana watched her go, frowning, gears turning full speed.

* * *

If Santana didn't know better, she would say that earlier that day, in the Cheerios' locker room, something had completely wiped  _all_  the want for physicality between her and Rachel away. Halted it. Stopped it cold.

That bothered her.

Using a towel to wipe her face dry, then pulling off her headband and depositing it and her toiletries bag at the side of the sink, she combed her hand through her hair, studied her full body reflection in the mirror, and decided she'd made the right choice in picking out her sleeping clothes for that night even still. They were skimpy, a Victoria's Secret cami and shorts combo, but enough clothing that Rachel would be more likely to cuddle; as, Santana had surmised, most skin-on-skin contact was fine during sexual contact but could be overwhelming during other times.

And with the way that night had been going… How Rachel had been acting…

Dammit, they were going to have to  _talk_  again, weren't they.

"Santana?" A dim, muted knock sounded on the bathroom door.

"Mmm, Rainbow Brite?"

"Are you almost done? I forgot something in there."

Santana tapped her finger on the counter, leaning forward to study her face in the mirror. "Aww, that's sweet, but I'm not a 'thing', Berry."

Laughing softly, unbelievingly, Rachel dryly answered, "I'm not going to dignify that with an answer. Just be aware I'm waiting for you to come out."

"Been there, done that, forced out," Santana muttered, but, finished, she opened the door, posing in the doorway. "Well? Door's open." She smirked at the wide eyed almost-gulp Rachel gave her, using the time to take her own perusal of the girl in front of her.

Somehow, Rachel made the pink polka dot pajama set work. It really shouldn't have, or made the young girl look even younger, but instead it was innocent enough, Rachel's expression was appreciative enough, and her body was developed enough that all it did was make her adorably sexy.

...Well,  _that_  was a phrase Santana  _never_  thought she'd ever think in her entire life. But there she was, using it. Adorably sexy. Definitely Rachel's influence.

Mmm.

"You… You look nice." Rachel recovered, straightening, as if drawing herself up would make it seem like she  _hadn't_  just been ogling Santana and Santana's goods.

To lightly tease her (and totes take advantage of the image before her), Santana made a show out of her looking Rachel up and down. Raising a hand, she followed the line of the pajama top's lapel, fingertips barely brushing along Rachel's collarbone as they moved back up.

Rachel swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. It wasn't fair how that single touch made goosebumps erupt, all her awareness narrowed down to where Santana was touching her, her thumping heart, Santana's burning eyes boring into hers, and immediate heat curling in her stomach. In a far, far corner of her mind, she wondered if she'd ever stop feeling that way whenever Santana touched her, no matter how simple that touch may be.

Rachel lowered her chin, watching Santana's long, thin fingers stroke up and down the fabric of her top. That close, she could smell the faintest hint of scented body lotion, and following up the lean muscles of Santana's arm, she could see the muscles twitch and flex minutely under the tanned skin. She shivered, stepping back to put space between them, eyes shifting.

Santana didn't let her get far, though, intent on settling this… whatever was happening; whatever rampant thoughts and insecurities were running around Rachel's little head  _this time_. "You're awfully twitchy around me, Berry-boo, considering the orgasm I ground out on your thigh earlier…"

The singer's nostrils flared, but her hands clenched and she cleared her throat. "S-Santana…"

Santana moved forward again, closer, Rachel taking a step back, until the back of her knees hit the bed and she sat down, staring wide-eyed up at Santana. The Cheerio didn't hesitate to straddle her thighs, guiding her chin up and placing a firm, heated kiss. As expected, Rachel went into the kiss willingly and with gusto, whimpering a little and putting her hands on the cheerleader's barely covered hips.

She kept the kiss going, slow and easy, nipping gently at Rachel's lower lip and soothing it with her tongue, deepening it when Rachel parted her lips more fully and moaned against Santana's lips.

Slowly, Santana moved her hands down from Rachel's shoulders to her arms, rocking her hips a little, letting her left hand drift to the singer's chest -

Rachel froze almost instantly, just as Santana had expected, breaking away and putting her hands flat on the mattress. The smaller girl's face was bright red, breaths uneven, and Santana  _knew_ the girl was turned on.  _Knew_ that Rachel- She stopped that thought, repeating to herself that maybe Rachel had changed her mind about safe boundaries, or something. But then why didn't the girl just  _say so_?

She felt Rachel wiggle under her, trying to separate their bodies, and with a huff Santana pressed her weight forward, her hands taking Rachel's wrists, and pinned the smaller girl to the bed. "We need to talk,  _again_ ," she ground out, trying to keep her annoyance in check. Talking instead of making out was not on her list of priorities, but keeping Rachel comfortable  _was,_ so.

"About…" Rachel wouldn't meet her eyes, but made no attempt to buck Santana off of her either.

"Don't play dumb, twinkles. S'not cute."

"I am not-"

"Except you totally  _are_."

A huff, both trying to stare one another down, before Rachel broke eye contact first, again, and settled for pouting.

Satisfied, Santana got straight to the point. "Am I pressuring you?"

Rachel's head whipped forward so fast the Latina was amazed she didn't get whiplash. "W-what? No! I mean- No. That's absurd," was the firm answer, Rachel's frown tight.

Santana grunted, still glaring. "Then why are you fighting me? What am I doing that is making you so uncomfortable that we legit took ten steps back in like, two hours?"

It had been longer than that, Rachel was tempted to say, but didn't. She was too confused to dwell on it.

Uncomfortable? She wasn't… Well, no… No, she was aroused, yes. And that was sort of uncomfortable, in a way, but wasn't that the point for Santana? Why was Santana seemingly concerned over something that was obviously her motive?

"I'm not - I mean I  _am,_ but not in-" Rachel huffed, her pout deepening. "I refuse to lose this time."

The shift in Santana's expression, from annoyed and frustrated to exceedingly confused would have been comical, were it not so… weird. "To...  _what_?"

Rachel shifted under her, biting her lip and glancing away. "To lose. I wanted to win this time. Or at least put up a good fight before giving in."

The Cheerio sat up and got off of the girl, pulling Rachel up as well and nearly man-handling her until they were both sitting on the bed, face to face, Santana's expression having schooled itself slightly as her eyes narrowed. "Win  _what_ exactly? And  _how_? And- What are you  _talking about_?"

Blinking, looking down and rubbing her arm, Rachel shrugged. "You should know," she insisted. "You started it, in the locker room. Maybe before that. You want me to beg, to… to give in, and then... And then you stop. W-with me. And I… I wasn't going to this time. I can go just fine without being all…  _that_."

Santana just stared.

Somewhere between the - what she thought had been - playful teasing and getting off, revving Rachel up and not finishing, Rachel had decided it was a competition that hadn't ended.

"...Rachel…" she sighed, tipping the girl's chin up to for her to look at her. "I. Am. Not.  _Playing you_." She paused, letting the words sink in. "The locker room - jeez I thought you  _understood_  -  ** _that_** was a game. It was play. It was hyping you up and getting myself off and afterwards it was  _done_. Do you - Jesus fuck, this isn't a fucking glee sing off."

Her throat tight and jaw-working, Rachel blinked back tears that she didn't even know why they were forming. "B-but you… in the car after. You kept teasing me," she insisted, voice getting watery.

"Oh no no no- no crying. God damn – Berry -  _Rachel_ , breathe."

Rachel did so, several sharp inhales and relatively more relaxed exhales.

"I wanted to  _get you off_ ," Santana said slowly.

"To make me lose – "

" ** _No_**.  _Listen_."

Rachel snapped her lips shut.

Santana waited a few seconds to see that she would actually remain that way, then went on. "You handled the punishment with flying colors," spoke the Latina almost gently. "It was hella hot. I wanted to make you feel good after. Knew you'd be a hot mess, that you had been for  _hours_. Knew it'd be my fault, wanted to take  _responsibility_ for that."

"...I didn't want to risk being seen in the car…" Rachel mumbled.

"And did I make you do anything in the car?"

A beat, followed by an exceptionally quiet, "...No… But then here, before Dad and Daddy got home. And after dinner. And the couch – "

"Why didn't you just tell me to  _stop_ then?"

Rachel blushed heavily, thoroughly embarrassed with herself as realization slowly dawned.

Santana's throat clenched for a moment. "Did you think I wouldn't?" she forced out, chest squeezing tight.

The smaller girl's head shot up. "No! No, Santana you have  _never_ -  _Would_  never- That wasn't even-"

Santana let out a small breath of relief.

Rachel groaned, her head falling into her hands. "Oh God I'm ruining everything."

Her immediate worries settled, Santana took Rachel's hands in her own, softly kissing her knuckles. "You aren't. But you  _needs_ to actually talk to me. And jeez,  _trust_ me. You keep wanting to talk and talk but then you just yam up and make assumptions about me. I already told you I'm invested, that this isn't a game, that I wants up on you and wants to be exclusive right now. At  _some_ point you need to meet me halfway."

Rachel sniffled despite herself, nodding. "I- I know. I'm sorry. I'm just so paranoid and it's stupid and you've done nothing since this started to imply anything negative and-"

" _Breathe_."

The girl did, in and out.

"S'not stupid. Not telling me when you're going weird in the head over something we're doing  _is_  stupid, but our history is sorta fucked up and your past relationships sucked. So."

Rachel managed a small laugh, blushing at the word  _relationships_ , and its implications for the present. "I'm sorry," she said. "I guess… I'm not used to… to believing the other person knows what to do. ...Or cares enough to do it right…"

Santana made a fierce expression then, closing her eyes and shaking her head, "And that, right there, is why the majority of people - and ' _specially_  those you inexplicably are attracted to - present company excluded -  _suck_  and know  _nothing_  about things and people and being real, fucking,  _good_  at being awesome about it." Scooting down, lying onto her side on the bed, palm under her chin and elbow on a pillow; she patted the space next to her.

When Rachel looked at her, obviously unsure of what to do, Santana sighed, quirked her lips into a small smile, and lifted her hand, sliding it up Rachel's arm to her shoulder and up her neck. Tugging lightly, and just as slightly pushing up, she pulled Rachel's face to hers, brushing their lips together.

Slowly, gradually, Rachel relaxed, allowing herself to settle onto the mattress, sliding her arm under her pillow so she could support herself. She placed her free hand on Santana's upper arm, exhaling as Santana's mouth opened under hers. Santana was obviously in control, but leaning over her, it still gave her the feeling like she was. And that was exactly what she needed to feel in that moment… After that conversation.

"...I like this," she whispered, smiling shyly as they separated, biting lightly down on her lower lip.

"Mmm…" Smiling back, scratching Rachel's scalp before moving forward to cup her cheek, Santana winked, "The kissing? You should." She tilted her head. "Interesting mouthwash flavor."

Lowering herself, hand sliding down Santana's arm until it reached her waist, Rachel readjusted herself, resting her head on her own shoulder. "It's certainly different than yours."

"Then maybe we should mack until the tastes goes away." Shifting forward, stopping only when their legs met, Santana slipped her hand around to Rachel's back, knocking their noses together.

" _Wait_." Making sure her voice was light, Rachel stopped her, slightly pressing down to piggyback on the request. Watching as Santana relented, lifting her eyebrows and 'hmm?'ing, she continued, "That wasn't what I meant. When I said… When I said I like this."

Santana leaned her head back, searching Rachel's face. "Really? 'Cuz I'm pretty sure I'm not the one who makes those  _noises_  - "

"Santana!" Poking the cheerleader's side, Rachel prepared for the retaliated poke, trying to twist and wiggle so Santana wouldn't reach any of her sensitive areas, hoping to make her target her spine instead.

Alas, squealing before muffling it, Rachel dropped back, attempting to trap the torturous fingers under her. Rolling with the motion, ending up propped over her, knee pushed between her legs, Santana smirked, yanking her hand back. "If that was your plan to gets me on top of you," she teased throatily, snaking the newly freed hand under Rachel's pajama top, spreading out on her stomach and side, "I think it worked."

"Well." Rachel coughed, a blush working its way onto her cheeks, "You're definitely above me." Her stomach muscles tensed. Every spot of contact with Santana made her skin tingle. "N-now what?"

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

Santana smiled, lowering her head until her lips almost touched Rachel's. "Close your eyes," she repeated.

Glancing at the light still on on the bedside table, then back up to dark, heated eyes, Rachel swallowed and managed a small, quick nod. She exhaled, screwing her eyes shut.

Laughing, Santana tapped her stomach, making her flinch and snap her eyes open, glaring at her. "Not like that, chica. That'll give you premature wrinkles. Not to mention jumpstart a headache we's don't need to start - - unless, of course, you're lookin' to get rid of it the fun, sexy way.

"No. Close your eyes. Like  _normal_."

Rachel licked her lips. "You know, Santana, it  _is_  a school night. And we're already up past my normal bedtime..."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Says the girl who wouldn't let me sleep last night." She pecked Rachel's lips, shifting to resolidify her position above her. "You already did it once. Come on… You said you trust me, didn't you?"

Rachel had said that. And since their latest talk about  _what_  they were doing, it felt like something she wanted to prove. "...Okay." Lifting her chin, pressing her own quick kiss to Santana's lips, Rachel dropped her head back and closed her eyes. After a second, she lightly hooked her fingers into the bottom of Santana's camisole.

 _Keepin' a hold on her, huh?_  A wide, pleased grin crossing her lips, Santana took a couple of seconds to take in the sight of Rachel below her, lips slightly parted, eyelashes fluttering, and dark hair spread out on the pillow. Her cheeks were still red, flushed, distressed by her bout of crying. Santana's heart lurched.

Removing her hand from the girl's stomach, making sure to stroke the warm, soft skin on her retreat, Santana lowered onto her newly freed elbow, leveling herself out.

Rachel's body was warm under her, their chests lightly touching. "Pretty girl…" she breathed, "You really are." She brushed Rachel's bangs out of her face.

Rachel made an uncomfortable expression, parting her lips even more in preparation to deny or refute or some other kind of knee-jerk reaction, and Santana shook her head, cutting it off by kissing her. "Shh. Take the compliment. And don't open your eyes to see if I'm being honest. 'Cuz I am. Kay?"

Frowning, slowly easing her grip of Santana's camisole, Rachel licked her lips again. "O-okay. Th-thank you."

"Good girl." Stroking Rachel's forehead, Santana leaned down, gently pressing her lips to first the singer's left eye, then right.

"Santana?" Rachel's puzzlement was audible, but tellingly, she didn't open her eyes.

Smiling into the next kiss, following the line of Rachel's cheekbone, Santana dropped another to the tip of her nose.

Rachel let out a shaky sigh, her body tensing, muscles tight and wound up, and Santana settled a little more firmly over her, moving down to nuzzle her neck. "Why are you tense?" she asked, voice husky and quiet.

The singer swallowed audibly. "I- I'm not sure," she replied.

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm  _not_ -"

"You _are._  You  _always_ know what and why you're feeling something."

Rachel hesitated, eyes fluttering but remaining closed, fists clenching and unclenching, before, "Because… You're… I'm not sure what… what I'm supposed to do. Besides just lay here. And…"

"Oh my sweet, sweet berry…" Santana kissed just below Rachel's ear, reveling in the way the smaller girl gasped at the action. "Here's what I want from you right now…" Another kiss, nearer Rachel's pulse. "I want you to keep your eyes closed, breathe in and out slowly, and  _relax_. Trust that I'll take care of you. Do you understand?" Yet another light kiss, at the corner of Rachel's lips, and finally some of the stiffness melted away from the girl's body. Santana smiled, the tightness that had been forming in her chest easing, and for several minutes she did nothing but softly kiss and nuzzle Rachel until the singer was completely limp under her, breaths only slightly quickened from slow building arousal.

"That's it…" praised Santana, beginning to roll her hips down, slow and firm. "Just like that, baby. Spread your legs wider for me. Want you to feel me."

"O-oh- S-San…" Rachel whimpered, the sound light and breathless as she obeyed, causing Santana to notch perfectly against her core. Every roll of the Cheerio's hips sent small shocks of pleasure through her body, making her own hips jerk and jump, breaths stutter and a flush begin to flood across her face and down her neck.

"When you're ready, I'm going to use my hand."

A strangled gasp, hot wetness flooding Rachel's panties at the words alone. "P-please," she moaned, "Please. Now. I- I'm ready." God, she was so ready. The pace was slowly building, Santana's pelvis firm and strong between her legs, and- oh god, what if… what if Santana had been using a- The thought was cut off as the pressure suddenly receded, and Rachel fought against herself to keep her eyes closed. She settled again, though, as she realized that Santana had situated herself on her left side, and the Latina's hand was slowly trailing down her stomach, over her thigh and dipping down between her legs, teasing, barely brushing above her panty covered heat.

"Say it again, Rachel," came heated words, a command more than anything.

She stumbled only for a second, before, " _Please_ …"

"Good girl," were the only words Rachel comprehended before she was being touched directly,  _under_ the waistbands of her pajamas and panties. The shock and intensity of the skin to skin contact nearly made Rachel cum right there, and Santana threw her leg over hers to hold her down, nipping at the singer's neck. "Stay put. I'm calling the shots, remember? You get what I give you."

 _Give you_. Santana was… Swallowing a whimper, Rachel nodded, trying to still - or at least pause - her hips. Her cotton pajamas were feeling restrictive, too hot, Santana's hand playing along the skin below Rachel's belly button making it hard to remember to breathe normally. That, almost more than anything, was making her heart beat out of her chest. She  _always_ made sure she had perfect respiration.

Slipping further beneath Rachel's clothes, Santana nuzzled her ear, smirking as Rachel reflexively moved her head to open more space for her to reach before snapping back; rewarding her for correcting herself, Santana nipped below her jaw, settling her whole hand fully onto Rachel, fingers caressing the bump of her hipbone. "I bet this falls under naughty touching," she husked teasingly. "Having me…" She shifted her angle again, _so close_  to touching what ached to be touched, leg closing tighter around Rachel's; her  _do this_  remained unspoken.

Rachel moaned, hips jumping again. "May-maybe." She fought to keep her eyes closed.

Santana lowered her voice even more, pushing up on her arm so she could reach more of Rachel with her mouth and hand. "I  _also_ bet you want to open for me, have me slip inside with one... two... three fingers, filling you and going deeper than anything you've managed before. Because you do touch yourself, don't you? Rubbing and stroking your clit, feeling how…" she curled her hand, scraping the sensitive skin, already swooping down to swallow the strangled gasp Rachel let out. She hissed into her mouth. " _Wet_  you are.

"And you are wet, Rachel," she inhaled,  _mmm_ ing appreciatively, " _Drenched_. I can  _feel_  it."

More wetness gushed, and Rachel squirmed. That was only  _centimeters_  from Santana's fingers.  _Oh god_. "I want you to feel it.  _P-please_."

Clicking her tongue, Santana suddenly pulled her hand out.

About to protest, Rachel stuttered to a stop when the pointer finger of the hand that had  _almost_  touched her pressed into her lips. She could smell herself, and more heat poured into her face and neck and upper chest.

"Hush." Shifting, Santana straddled Rachel, settling herself squarely onto the throbbing heat between her legs. "What  _I_  give you, remember?" Trailing her hand down Rachel's chin, neck, and pausing at the collar of the polka dotted top, she leaned down. "Though, one thing. Tell me to stop," she nuzzled Rachel's cheek, smirking proudly at the low moan and tremble that gave her, Rachel's hands closing and opening on the comforter of the bed under her; sitting up again, Santana slid her hands to the uppermost button of the top, "If you don't want me to gets my hands on your tits."

When Rachel licked her lips, panting a little as Santana rocked back, pressing down into her, her response changing into a keening groan, the cheerleader smiled. "You liked it earlier today, right?"

The singer swallowed hard and nodded. The memory was still fresh in her mind, Santana's hands over her clothes, squeezing, tugging, massaging. Arching her back a little more, Rachel whimpered, pleading. "Y-yes. I mean… I… I liked it. W-when you touched me."

Santana nodded, the action going unseen, and she rolled her hips again, grinding down and chuckling softly when a frustrated groan escaped the smaller girl's lips. "So hot, baby… I like seeing you like this; wet…, panting…,  _desperate_ …"

"'Tana- _please_ …"

There was a slight crack in Rachel's voice, and Santana shifted up a little, removing pressure from Rachel's core and moving her hands to lay lightly on the girl's chest. "Shhh," she cooed, "Remember to breathe for me, Rachel. Breathe in and out, and trust me."

As Santana began kneading Rachel's breasts over her shirt, leaning down and pressing feather-like kisses to her face and neck, she reveled in the way the girl's body shifted and arched under her; melting and tensing, gasping and sighing. There was a flush down Rachel's neck, the glistening of sweat on her brow, and Santana swore there were few things more  _incredible_ than Rachel Berry under her and like  _this_.

"I'm going to go under your shirt," she eventually spoke, calm and steady. She kissed Rachel firmly before the girl could start freaking out, waiting for her to settle before slipping her hands up under the shirt, pushing it up as she drew her nails across the curve of the singer's rib cage.

 _"San…._ " sighed Rachel, breathless and aroused. "Ooohhh…."

"Fucking gorgeous," whispered Santana, against Rachel's lips. "Can I unbutton this, baby? See you up close? Touch you more?"

A fervent nodding, followed by a squeaked, "Yes," and dexterous fingers were soon undoing the buttons of Rachel's top. The cheerleader's hands were shaking the slightest bit, heart lurching in her throat and heat roaring in the pit of her stomach. Once Rachel's upper body was completely exposed save her bra, Santana had to take a moment to steady herself. She needed to keep her cool, let her own confidence give Rachel confidence.

God, how much she wanted her mouth on the girl's tits.

Instead, she slowed, shifting down, entwining one of her hands into Rachel's, squeezing in reassurance. "Perfect, baby."

Rachel shivered, goosebumps popping up where Santana's breath played. "S-San?"

"Mean it." Santana hummed, smiling. Stroking Rachel's hand with her thumb, she spread her legs, readjusting herself so she was kneeling on either side of Rachel's hips, lifting herself from direct contact while making it easier to reach the younger girl. Rachel, teeth softly biting into her lower lip, eyebrows threatening to encroach on each other, looked like she needed… "Rache." Murmuring, nuzzling Rachel's cheek, Santana slowly, gently laid her hand on Rachel's chest, above her breasts.  _Holy fucking crap she was so close to gettin' her hands on her naked tits_. "You can open your eyes now."

Eyelashes fluttering, and blinking a couple of times, shy brown eyes met hers.

"There you are." Good. Being able to see her would hopefully ground Rachel. This was only the beginning, after all, Santana tried to remind herself. There would be time later to experiment. To find boundaries.

Bringing herself back to looking at _Rachel's almost naked chest_ , Santana exaggeratedly glanced down then back up, smile growing. She slid her hand to the right strap of Rachel's bra, playing with it. "Pink. Cute."

Rachel's hand tightened briefly in hers, the singer's flush traveling back up into her cheeks. "I…"

"You weren't wearin' one at my house. Normally sleep with one? I can't. The girls like to breathe after a day of being strapped down in a sports bra. Shame, don't you think?" Santana arched her back, pushing her chest out, bringing attention to it, "Like yours, they're made to be seen."

"I just thought…" Rachel stared at Santana's chest, licking her lips. When Santana moved her hand, trailing her fingers over the swell of her breast, pausing at the cup of her bra, she inhaled, a small whimper vibrating in her chest. " _San…_  W-wait. Mine are made to…?"

Santana kissed her. "Totes. I bet they're fuckin'  _gorgeous_." Removing her hand from Rachel's, she kissed her again, briefly sucking on her tongue and nipping her lower lip to restart her heart pounding; sitting back, crawling down Rachel's body, she pushed her hair behind her shoulder and leaned down. Keeping her eyes on Rachel's, she brushed her lips above her belly button. _God, she smells amazing. And so soft… Even with the muscles under her skin._

Rachel's breath hitched, her inhale sharp, almost a squeak. Her eyes were wide with… some sort of anticipation. But she didn't know exactly what that meant, or what she was… hoping for? Nails dug lightly into her thigh, and the singer blinked, thoughts rushing back to her and her focus suddenly sharper. She hadn't even noticed it had blurred to begin with.

"Stay with me, Rachel," spoke Santana quietly, leaning down to kiss a hot trail up the smaller girl's torso and to the valley of her breasts. Rachel panted thickly, her muscles twitching and contracting reflexively, arching up when the cheerleader scratched a tight path down her stomach and then  _pressed_ into her hips firmly.

"S- _San-"_

Santana eased her nails away from the crease of Rachel's hips, lightly gliding them up and down the girl's thigh again as she recovered. "If I bit you there… marked you… would you moan for me?" she asked, voice thick and teasing.

Rachel whimpered, hips bucking suddenly, making the Cheerio smirk softly.

"I'll take that as a yes, then…"

Settling herself more next to Rachel's side again, Santana kissed and nibbled against her neck, her left hand now firmly on one of Rachel's covered breasts, massaging and groping. "May I?" she asked, fingers teasing along the bottom edge of the cup.

Tension rattled through Rachel's bones, but the heat, the  _need_ settling into her, making her body vibrate and heart hammer, was grounding in its own way. And when Santana breathed out her name like some sort of prayer, asking again, the singer's head fell back to press against the pillow as she moaned out a hoarse, " _Please_ …"

Scalding fingertips were against her bare breast then, under the cup, rolling her nipple and scratching lightly at the underside of her breast, in tandem with the constant nips and slight sucking that Santana had started on her neck again.

"Gonna mark you," Santana growled, causing Rachel to whimper and buck again. "Tell me where," she went on. "Where is it okay?"

In that moment Rachel wanted to say her neck, where it would be completely visible and impossible to hide without proper makeup application. But there was just enough anxiousness left in her aroused mind to shy away from the idea, and instead she moved her head to the side more, exposing an expanse of shoulder, and immediately Santana's lips and teeth were there, tugging and bruising the skin, using her tongue to soothe it over before repeating the action again slightly away from the first spot. All the while her fingers kept tugging and lightly pinching Rachel's nipple, having moved to the other breast, and by the time Santana pulled her lips and hand away, Rachel was shaking with stimulation.

Santana shifted up, straddling Rachel's hips and taking the girl's head in her hands, leaning down to catch her lips in a slow kiss. She murmured, "Stay with me," and "Breathe, baby," against the singer's lips, continuing until Rachel calmed again, though she was still squirming and squeezing her thighs together tightly. Santana almost chuckled; the girl was obviously painfully aroused, probably more so than she had ever been in her life.

And that was okay, because the Cheerio had  _every_ intention of satisfying. "'M'gonna make you feel good now, baby. Gonna make you cum. You deserve it, been so good all day. Tell me how you want me to touch you."


	25. Chapter 25

Cuddling into her pillow, Rachel exhaled, starting to shift into a more comfortable position when more awareness filtered in. Warm, a long arm thrown over her side and a knee pressing into the back of her thigh, it took approximately five seconds before the residual moisture between her legs sparked sudden, sharp recollection, and she was uncomfortably awake. If she concentrated, she could feel the nipped and sucked hickey on her shoulder, which led her mind down to the memory of Santana's hands and mouth on her bare breasts. A hesitant move to touch her chest reassured her her top was buttoned up again. It was fuzzy, and she could barely remember, but the memory of Santana kissing her forehead and whispering praises and reassurances as she gently buttoned it for her was there. Another thought, and another touch made it clear that, yes, her bra was gone. When had that happened?

Had… Had she really orgasmed from Santana's mouth and hands on her breasts?

And even more embarrassing, _fallen asleep right afterwards_?

Naive, virgin-like actions aside, as Rachel could only describe them to herself as, did that mean she'd left Santana hanging? _Again_?

Oh Barbra. Rachel opened her eyes, darting them back as if she could look at the slumbering cheerleader through her shoulder and pre-dawn darkness. What was the girl going to say the next time they talked? In the morning? Was she going to be disappointed? Teasing? Critical?

The arm around her suddenly tightened, drawing her back against the Cheerio's firm body, and lips pressed against her neck in a light kiss that made Rachel's head swim.

"You're thinking too loud, Babs," came the husky, sleep-filled voice. It made Rachel shiver slightly, her thighs tightening for a second. "Go back to sleep."

Rachel's heart skipped at the… sort of command, but instead of trying to obey, she turned to face the taller girl, resting her head under Santana's chin. "We need to get up soon," she said, desperately trying to push back the onslaught of inappropriate thoughts bouncing once again around her brain.

Santana's hand idly scratched up and down her back, near her hip, and Rachel couldn't stop herself from yawning - nor stop how her body heated up at the responding, growl-like chuckle.

"It's 5am. We don't need to get up until 7. If you don't go back to sleep now, I didn't do a very good job last night, and I'd have to make up for it, right now."

Despite the heat pooling in her gut, there was a twisting knot, and Rachel swallowed hard.

She shifted up to look Santana in the eyes, the cheerleader's lids heavy and gaze smoldering. Another skip of her heart, and Rachel bit her lip.

Santana's eyes opened up a little more, and soft fingers gently brushed aside Rachel's bangs. "Hey. What's wrong?" she asked. The tone was so soft and light that any attempt to keep her words inside were broken apart.

Quietly, tentatively, Rachel replied, "Could we… maybe… slow down a little bit?"

Santana shifted back, then up, brows furrowed. "Are you okay?" she asked, concern wrapping around her words and worry etching her features. "I went too far, didn't I? Fuck. I'm sorry. I mean I thought- and you didn't- But-"

Rachel sat up as well then, cutting Santana off, for the first time, with a kiss, her hands cupping the Latina's cheeks. She kept their lips pressed together until some of the tension in Santana's grip on her hip loosened, and then pulled back only a few inches. "I _definitely_ wanted everything that happened last night. It was… just… Okay it was a little embarrassing realizing that I… that I _orgasmed_ just from you touching-"

"And biting."

Rachel's blush became hotter. "And _biting_ my chest… but I mean. It definitely wasn't bad. _At all_. But I also really haven't had time to just _process_ , you know? And I'd like..." she trailed off, looking down and biting her lip, clearing her throat a little. "I'd like to get to… know us better. With this… whatever it is we're doing. Exclusively with one another."

She looked back up at Santana, who still seemed agitated, but, to her own surprise, Rachel could _feel_ that the agitation was directed inward, not at her. She pulled Santana back down to the bed with her, forcing the girl to hold her close. "Stop it," she said, already feeling drowsy again, Santana's heat and being able to get some things off her chest aiding her tiredness. "I'd have told you to stop if I had wanted that. And I didn't. And you aren't allowed to be cranky because it was a really great evening and everything felt great and-"

A light brush of lips against her forehead quieted Rachel's ramblings, followed by Santana settling down more firmly and curling around the smaller girl. "I get it," she chuckled. Annoyance with herself remained, but it was eased by the insistent, ever sincere words of the singer. Enough that she decided to reevaluate the night and analyze things at a later time at least. "Go to sleep, Twinklebell. There's still a solid hour and a half before I have to feed you."

"And my dads?"

Santana chuckled, relaxing even more into the smaller girl. "If they're 'wake, sure. Your dads too."

"Thank you." Rachel's breaths deepened, and, "You're sweet," she barely managed to finish before her body became heavy with sleep.

 _Sometimes_. Santana kissed her forehead again, following shortly after.

* * *

Santana woke up to Rachel's lips pressing into her shoulder, a small, curious hand stroking and feeling her abs through her camisole. Evidently having rolled over in her sleep, she mentally smiled at the ridiculous image of Rachel having been spooning her, but kept it in as Rachel's hair slid over her skin, making her shiver.

"Good morning," Rachel whispered, smiling into her next kiss.

Grunting, Santana finally allowed her smile. "Tryin' to be the big spoon?" she teased.

Rachel's lips trailed up Santana's neck, her soft cheek pushing Santana's hair out of the way. "Is there something that says I can't?"

"The fact that you're the size of a toddler does," Santana smirked, unsurprised in the least when sharp fingernails jabbed her warningly in the stomach. When that didn't elicit a reaction, however, Rachel's hand paused disappointedly. Grinning, Santana rolled over; she laughed at the pout that greeted her. "Disappointed I'm not ticklish?"

Having leaned back on her elbow to give Santana the space to move, Rachel exhaled out of her nose. Still pouting, she wrinkled said nose when Santana tapped it, only to squeal, arms flailing when Santana pounced up, hands wrapping around her shoulders to push her back and down, hovering over her. " _Santana_!"

Santana smirked down at her, heat stirring as she took in how sleep-mussed hair on Rachel looked _entirely_ too much like similarly sex-mussed hair. The girl's eyes were dark and twinkling, her plump lips spread in both laughter and a wide grin, and her hands fell back around Santana's hips. Still halfway under the covers, everything was warm and comfortable and smelled amazing, the barest hint of the sexual activities they'd been up to mere hours before making her heart thud.

A gentle touch along her cheek, Rachel's fingers stroking curly bangs back from her eyes brought her back to focus.

Rachel smiled up at her. "You're beautiful." A faint blush rose, accompanying her words.

"You mind morning breath?"

"What?"

Santana shook her head, shifting more onto her right so she could cup Rachel's cheek with her left hand. "Either you don't, and I kiss you, or you do, and I speeds up my plans to get out of bed and go to the bathroom." She marveled at how soft Rachel's cheek felt under her thumb.

"Oh." Rachel shyly met her eyes.

Santana raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

In answer, Rachel slid her arms around Santana's neck, raising her chin.

Smiling, Santana kissed her, lowering herself to rest in between her legs, arms moving under Rachel's back and shoulders to hug her as she supported herself on her forearms, mming in the back of her throat as every touch of her body and swipe of her tongue and exhale of her chest made her nerves thrill.

For her part, Rachel could only hold on as Santana expertly kissed her, the girl solid and warm and so _nice_ even after spending the night in her arms.

Still…

When Santana pulled back, tongue flicking out to lick her lips before moving to nuzzle and smile along her jaw, Rachel softly scratched her scalp, trying to get her attention.

"Mmm? We's don't have time for mackin'?"

"That's not it." Though it was true, especially if Santana really _was_ planning on making breakfast, that they should get up within the next few minutes. "I'm just…"

Santana's eyes widened, and she pushed up. "What? _This_ counts as…? Oh, jeez, crap, damn, lemme' - "

Cupping her face, Rachel yanked her back down, kissing her strongly. " _No_ ," she gasped, having to catch her breath when they separated. After a second, she lightly wrapped her calves around Santana's, keeping her snugly on top of her. "No, that's not what I meant. I just…"

Her eyes narrowing, Santana studied her. Her own chest heaving from the kiss, pressing into Rachel's, she frowned, moving her hand to push the girl's bangs back from her forehead. "'M listenin'." When Rachel still seemed to have trouble getting out what she wanted, Santana rolled her eyes and affectionately tapped her forehead. "Rachel. Spit it out."

Rachel exhaled, but she _finally_ met Santana's gaze. "I just don't want you to feel I don't want to touch you back, to reciprocate, o-or make you feel good, because I do."

What?

"I do! I know I really didn't, uhm, _do_ too much even before I called for slowing down, but I've just been thinking I haven't been really _fair_ \- and I don't want to _continue_ being unfair."

Santana stared at her, Rachel continuing to ramble, trying to fill the empty space.

"I mean obviously I still have some… reservations about certain things. And _not_ really because of _you_ but because of _me_. Not like I'm necessarily _unsure_ or anything- I mean, yes, I am, nervous about some stuff, but it's mostly just the not knowing and I really feel that the exploration we do is helping a lot- It's just that _me_ not wanting to be touched _everywhere_ yet doesn't actually mean that- Obviously you don't have those same nerves really and-"

She was finally quieted by fingers gently tugging at the back of her head, tangling in her hair and pulling her up a bit, just enough for Santana to kiss her soundly. The cheerleader kept the kiss soft, simply moving their lips together, only nipping Rachel's bottom lip lightly as she pulled away.

"I get it," Santana husked, and Rachel swore the girl's eyes were black. "You wanna touch me, yeah? Make me feel all _hot_ and _wet_ for you?"

Rachel's cheeks heated up, her heart lodging in her throat, but she swallowed it down hard and nodded. "I've done some research," she fumbled out, barely managing to not look nearly as embarrassed as she felt by saying those words.

To her absolute relief Santana didn't laugh, only chuckled, and Rachel _swore_ that sound was nearly breathless.

"Fuck, Rachel," Santana practically moaned. "That should not be so fucking hot."

The Cheerio sat up, settling herself on Rachel's stomach, hands just under the singer's breasts, and licked her lips. "This weekend, I want you to sleep over. And I want you to… show me what your research has taught you."

Rachel bit her lip, but nodded slowly. "Oh. O-okay. But p-please remember that it's not necessarily _working_ knowledge by any means. Merely theoretical-" This time she was cut off by a single finger pressing against her lips, Santana arching an eyebrow at her, and Rachel cleared her throat. "Practice, then, I assume."

Santana nodded, a small smile on her lips. "Makes perfect." She lifted up, throwing her leg over Rachel and standing from the bed, "For now, clothes and breakfast." Turning back with a wink, the Cheerio smirked. "And maybe some sweet lady kisses in the Mustang before school."

* * *

Rachel's dads wouldn't stop raving about Santana's breakfast. Having managed something suitably vegan _and_ delicious, it really wasn't a surprise to anyone except Santana when LeRoy slid his arm around her shoulders, pulled her into a sideways hug, and made puppy dog eyes at his husband and daughter. "We're keeping her."

"Daddy! You can't kidnap one of my classmates just because she cooks well."

"Well?" Santana arched an eyebrow, smirking smugly, "That kicked ass, and you know it."

Rachel made a face at her, but shook her hand in the air, turning to her other father. "Any help?"

Hiram shrugged. "I'm with LeRoy on this. Santana, any time you want to come over and cook for us, you're welcome to." Ignoring Rachel's cross look, he stepped forward, holding out his hand. Santana took it, and they shook, LeRoy finally letting go of her.

"See?" Santana grinned, later when they were shrugging on their jackets, lips warm against Rachel's ear, "Parents love me."

Barely even bothering to pretend to be grumbly, Rachel snagged the bottom of Santana's Cheerio jacket, pulling her back to her. "You're aware you're now probably going to be in charge of dinner and breakfast whenever possible, right?"

"Meaning…" Santana settled her jacket better on her shoulders, "I'll be sleeping over at least twice a week? I think I can deal with that." Quickly glancing behind them, not seeing either Berry Dad around, she cupped her hands on Rachel's hips, pulling her in for a soft kiss. When the kiss ended, her smirk came back. "Just think, now when they find out I'm 'defiling' their daughter, they'll only have their stomachs to blame for it."

Rachel closed her eyes, shaking her head as she stepped away, out of Santana's reach. "Aren't you the last of the true romantics."

Santana grinned, winked, and took Rachel's hand after slinging both their backpacks over her shoulder, leading the girl to her Mustang. "You know it, babe."

* * *

Study hall together found them in the auditorium, hidden from prying eyes in the shadows of the wings, Rachel straddling Santana's lap and the cheerleader's hands firmly resting on the singer's hips. There wasn't much conversation, their eyes closed, foreheads leaning against one another's, merely breathing each other in as they recovered from a particularly hot makeout session.

"Hey… Santana…?" Rachel's voice eventually broke the silence.

"Hm?" was the soft grunt of acknowledgment.

"You're sure about… You aren't upset, are you? About going slower…?"

Santana opened her eyes, meeting Rachel's own, and tilted her head back so that they could properly look at one another. Her brows were furrowed, a frown twisting her lips, and Rachel hurried to say, "I swear I'm not implying - or not _trying to_ imply - anything bad about your character."

Santana relaxed slightly, her thumbs playing with Rachel's hip bones over her skirt. "I know you're a virgin. And I'm sure all… this - last night, in the locker room - it's more than you ever did with the dick-less wonders."

Rachel bit her lip, nodding, barely meeting Santana's gaze from under her eyelashes. "It's… It's new. And I feel…" She swallowed, sitting up straighter even as she wrung her hands in front of her. "It's easy to feel…"

"Vulnerable?" Santana asked, an eyebrow arched.

Pink rose lightly on Rachel's cheeks, and she nodded. She almost felt like she needed to apologize. "I've never… _Anything_. With anyone. I couldn't, with Jesse, and I'm not like you with your 'never say no'..."

"Rachel." Shaking her head, lips slightly curled, Santana shifted, bringing the singer more firmly against her and kissing her cheek. "The day you don't say no when you mean it is frankly not a day I want to see. It would mean Armageddon, and I am _way_ too sexy to die from something as lame and anticlimactic as that. No. This body and spirit is meant to go either from partying too hard in old age or from being a backup singer for Alicia Keys on her comeback tour, offing myself via assassination by the sheer awesomeness that is Alicia Keys' voice."

That, thankfully, had Rachel smiling, and relaxing more fully against the Cheerio. She nodded. "Okay… Okay, but then, I just want to make something clear," she said.

Santana quirked her eyebrow.

"What we do together, especially in the bedroom, is certainly not 'defiling'. That implies it's morally dirty somehow. And while my fathers have _zero_ wish to know about my sex life in _any_ way, I assure you they are sex positive. So long as we're both very safe and honest about it."

Santana snorted, biting back the laughter bubbling up in her chest as she wrapped her arms completely around Rachel and pulled her into a tight hug. "How do you _possibly_ say that with a straight face?" she asked, giggling into Rachel's neck.

The smaller girl huffed. "Santana, I am being very serious here."

"I know! That's- Geez, Twinkle." Pulling back, Santana managed to control her features, pecking Rachel's nose. "I know. I know. And I agree with like, it not being bad or dirty, and communicating, blah blah blah, just… You're so _adorable._ "

 _Why couldn't Santana have thought so_ _ **years**_ _ago?_ Still, the look in Santana's eyes, as well as the tone in her voice and the weight of her arms around her made another blush erupt on Rachel's cheeks. "I'm glad you've come to that impression, but I _do_ want you to know I'm a willing participant with what we do together. And that this…" She smiled shyly, motioning between her and Santana, "Is _so_ much more positive than 'defilement'."

Santana's lips covered hers, the cheerleader sitting forward a little to meet her. "I know," she repeated herself, a real smile taking over her face for a couple of seconds. "And though I would have denied this to hell and back before I'd gotten to know you better… I think so too."

Rachel bit her lower lip, smiling. She stroked Santana's bare arms, then slid her hands back to circle the cheerleader's shoulders, leaning into her.

Santana met her kiss, a pleased noise sounding in the back of her throat. "Mmm… Shoulda done this sooner."

"Better late than never?"

Snorting, Santana opened her mouth to reply,

_Bzzt- Bzzzt- Bzzzt_

Both girls jumped, Santana grumbling as she took out her phone. She groaned, rolling her eyes. "Q's wondering where we are," she explained, pulling her other hand from Rachel's back to quickly type a response.

Rachel nodded, smoothing her hair behind her ear in one of her auomatic nervous tics.

Santana smiled, pushing her phone back into her sports bra. "You know she already knows."

Rolling her eyes, Rachel moved from straightening her hair to straightening her skirt and blouse, mussed from Santana's hands and Rachel's… _adventures_ on her lap, sliding off her legs as gracefully as she could. "It doesn't mean I appreciate what she most probably inferred to you within that text."

"That I was knuckle deep in you, your legs wrapped around me as I rocked your world?" Santana smirked, pleased at the reaction that got. She stood as well.

Easing the knee-jerk reactionary face she'd made, Rachel finished patting down her skirt. "I'm sensing a theme with you and people's expectations. _Especially_ since we've previously agreed…" She raised her chin, competition making her lips turn up; she gave Santana a pointed, sultry look, " _I_ would be the one more likely to be inside of _you_."

 _Fuck_ that should not make Santana as wet as it did.

" _Mmmph_ ," Santana exhaled through her nose, closing her eyes. "Tell me again why we're not skipping and having that sleepover already?"

Rachel took her hand. Playing with her fingers, making Santana's breath catch and heat spiral up her legs into her core, the singer took a step closer, closing her other hand around Santana's. "Because…" she breathed, leaning in to whisper in Santana's ear, smiling at the unconscious tremble that elicited, "You're aware how important I believe my academics are, and _also_ know…" She stroked Santana's middle and ring fingers, "The happier I am… The more _satisfied_ I am… The better and more _in_ _depth_ my _practice_ with you will be."

Hissing, Santana turned her head, catching Rachel's lips with hers.

She pulled back slowly, tugging on Rachel's lower lip with her teeth before finally leaning back fully. "Just remember, cupcake," the cheerleader husked. "If you make promises to me, I will _make sure_ you keep them." Before Rachel could make a proper, coy retort, two hands were firmly on her ass and forcing her body firmly against Santana's, the taller girl roughly thrusting her hips hard against Rachel's own. The singer gasped, whimpering as her hands flew to Santana's shoulders to steady herself. Her cheeks stained with a light blush, and Santana's amused, throaty chuckle had the flush deepening.

"That was completely unnecessary," Rachel finally managed to say, swallowing hard and stepping back when Santana loosened her grip.

The Cheerio smirked, crossing her arms. "Consider it a gentle reminder," she replied, making Rachel snort, crossing her own arms.

"Gentle reminder for what exactly?"

Santana stepped forward, reaching out to lay the palm of her left hand against Rachel's neck, her smirk softer but eyes dark. "That even _when_ you're knuckle deep in me? M'still in charge. And you _like_ it that way."

The bell ringing to announce the end of the period interrupted anything Rachel wanted to say, or try to say, and with a small huff, promptly ignoring the blush that had still refused to leave her face, she took Santana's hand and headed out of the auditorium.

She could practically _feel_ Santana's smugness, but _ugh_ , the Cheerio was _right_. And if anything that was even more annoying than the Latina's smirk.

But by the time Santana had walked her to her next class, a fair amount of Rachel's tension had dissipated. The light kiss on the cheek just before Santana made her way to her own class evaporated the rest of it, and Rachel was glad that she was already ahead in that class because now that she wasn't annoyed anymore, all she could think about was the earlier conversation and Santana's many, many plans for them.


	26. Chapter 26

Quinn was waiting outside Santana's Calculus class, immediately falling into step with her as they made their way to their shared English class. "S'up, Q?"

"Do you know," Quinn gave her a side eyed smirk, "How _unsurprised_ I was to find that you and Rachel weren't in study hall? It's like you're not even _trying_ to hide."

Santana glanced at the blonde. "I wasn't aware we were _trying_ to hide."

That made Quinn blink, and she opened her mouth before exhaling, nodding. "Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing, really. Just, you know, I'm a little surprised. By that."

Rolling her eyes, Santana shouldered open the door to their classroom, taking her seat; waiting for Quinn to take the desk next to her, she shrugged, pulling out her notebook. "Look, we're not hiding, but we're not broadcasting it, either."

"And your definition of 'it'...?"

Santana shrugged again. "We're gettin' our sweet lady kisses on."

Hmming, Quinn pulled out her own notebook, setting her textbook down between them. "So like friends with benefits…?"

"No. Well, yes. But not really." Shaking her head, Santana resettled in her seat, giving Quinn a shrewd look. "Look, it's complicated. Why do you care so much, anyway?"

"I'm just trying to understand it! I mean, last year, before summer, you were ready to disembowel Rachel - Brittany told me about the voodoo doll - but then senior year starts and you're not only calling a moratorium of slushies on her but also violently going off on those who even _look_ at her wrong? Then having sex with the girl during study hall?"

"One, we weren't having sex. And two, I wasn't going to _disembowel_ the munchkin. Rough her up, maybe. Cut her with my razor blades at the worst. But that still doesn't explain why you're so curious." Leaning in towards Quinn, Santana raised her eyebrows. "If I didn't know you only muff dive when drunk, I'd be _pretty sure_ you're lookin' for tips on how to seduce her away from me. Which is ridiculous. And also pointless."

Lips tight with indignance, Quinn glanced around quickly to make sure no one had or was paying them any attention. She glared at Santana, "You seriously have _zero_ tact. How does Rachel even stand you? And for that matter, if I _ever_ cared enough about your weird sex life to want to 'seduce' a target from you, believe me, I could."

Santana snorted, arms crossed and looking completely unimpressed. "There's like, a million things wrong with what you just said. And Rachel isn't a 'target'."

"Not anymore at least, right?"

"Shut it, Q."

The conversation was temporarily halted when the teacher showed up, but once the man was turned away from them and focused on trying to actually teach, Quinn whispered, "What made the change of heart?" with a small, almost _knowing_ smile.

It felt like a challenge, and Santana bristled. "Really not your business."

"I mean, _especially_ since you _aren't_ apparently having sex?"

"I didn't say that."

Quinn raised a brow. "It's being heavily implied."

Santana looked at her, eyes narrowed, head cocked just slightly to the side, and a small tremor of trepidation went through Quinn. She _knew_ that look, and she wasn't in a solid enough position of power over Santana anymore to not feel at least a _little_ intimidated by it.

"You know… before when I said if I didn't know better you'd try seducing Miss Muffet away from me, I was totes joking. But yous keep bringing this back to sexy times. Specifically _my_ sexy times." The cheerleader's plush lips smirked sharply. "Maybe what I _should_ be worried about - - or what _Rachel_ should be worried about, is _you_ trying to seduce _me_ away from _her_." Santana all but purred the last few words, leaning over just enough to be in Quinn's personal space.

Quinn's face was red, eyes wide and jaw slack. In a second though it was twisted to mild disgust and irritation. "No. Seriously. How does Berry deal with you _ever_?"

Pulling back and settling into her chair again, feeling victorious, Santana shrugged. "M'persuasive." A side glance, with a confident quirk of her eyebrow, "You should know." The exaggerated wink did Quinn in, and with a quiet groan and roll of her eyes, the girl turned her attention to the teacher. Santana settled for turning her own thoughts inwards.

Seemed like the perfect time to figure out how she intended on taking advantage of Rachel's very clear offer to be a bit more _giving_.

* * *

Loitering at her locker, having gotten out earlier than Quinn and Santana, Rachel perked up, smiling invitingly as the two girls walked up. Stopping long enough to inform Rachel that she'd covered for both her and Santana in study hall with the excuse Sue had wanted them for some kind of Cheerio thing, Quinn tugged Rachel away for a second to whisper in her ear that as much as she and Santana were cute and somehow kind of maybe possibly worked - her prior comment still held but with Santana _nothing_ was ever static - Rachel should still be careful with her. She then gave her a pointed look and went off to join Finn and Puck in their Social Studies class. Left gobsmacked and _very_ confused, Rachel turned on her heel to meet Santana's gaze. "...I missed something there, I think."

Santana smirked, curling her arm around the smaller girl's shoulders. Steering her towards their shared Spanish class, she brushed a grinning kiss along her forehead. "She's just jealous. Don't mind her."

"Jealous?" Frowning and giving Santana a disbelieving look, Rachel still cuddled closer into her. "I don't think so. She already gave me her approval a week ago."

"A week - we weren't even _anything_ a week ago."

Rachel poked her side, huffing again when that didn't elicit any reaction except for a smug noise in the Cheerio's throat. "Don't say that. You know as well as I that… the thing between us… has been _something_ since _at least_ our third detention together. And as for why she said what she did, aren't you forgetting she's the one you turned to after I got slushied? And as much as you think you are, you really aren't – weren't – _aren't_ – subtle in the halls, Santana."

Acknowledging Rachel's statement but not deigning to address it specifically, Santana idly scratched her cheek. "Well, whatever. Wait." Dark eyes danced as Santana stopped, turning and dropping her arm so she could slide her hands on either side of Rachel's hips, "Our third detention? Are you talking about the first time I backed you into a wall?"

Pink blossomed on Rachel's cheeks, and she cleared her throat, looking down. "I… don't recall."

Santana's lips split into a giant grin. " _Yes_ you do." She hummed, taking a step closer, succeeding in gently backing Rachel up, out of the flow of traffic and against a row of random lockers again. "You _like_ being cornered."

It wasn't a question, and that, more than anything, made Rachel's legs almost fail. She dropped the handle of her backpack, hands snapping out to grasp at the warm fabric of Santana's Cheerio top. " _Santana…_ " she breathed.

Santana pressed firmly against her, the palms of her hands now against the lockers, caging Rachel between her and the metal surface. She dipped her head a bit, whispering directly into Rachel's ear. "I wonder how wet you are right now…" Rachel gasped, screwing her eyes shut, but Santana continued, pausing for only a moment to glance around and confirm that the halls had emptied almost completely. "Does it make you hot when I do this, Rachel? When I block you off, _trap_ you?"

To her credit, Rachel didn't fall to her knees or moan. Nor did she whimper - - too loudly. Just a little bit, quietly.

Santana breathed in through her nose, exhaling with a flare of her nostrils and reminding herself that they were supposed to be keeping things on the quiet-ish side, and slowing down.

With a soft kiss just under Rachel's ear, Santana pulled back to let Rachel breathe, letting her hands return to their place on the smaller girl's hips. But before too much distance was put between them, Santana brought their bodies flush together, husking quietly, "The next time I cage you in, Berrybright, I'm not going to back off. Not until I've made you a hot, weak, quivering mess _begging_ me to take you."

With wide, blown eyes, Rachel could only nod, managing a small, throaty, "O-okay," before the warning bell rang.

It jolted them both, reminding them that they were still in school and now almost late for class. Rachel faltered to regain her composure and backpack, her headspace still hazy. Santana took the handle for her instead, wrapping an arm around her waist to help steady her, and ducked down to give her a soft kiss. It helped to ground the singer, and she cleared her throat. "So… next time…?" she asked as they hurried to the classroom.

Santana glanced over to her, studying her. The smaller girl had a small smile on her face, and was blushing. Both were good signs, and the Latina let out a small sigh of relief that she hadn't even known she'd been holding. "Yeah, next time."

"And that will be…?"

With an amused snort Santana stopped them just before they were visible from the doorway. She pecked Rachel's nose. "Whenever you're ready to go there. I meant what I said, and it's _definitely_ not going to be slow."

The shy grin on Rachel's face was _ridiculous_ given what they were talking about, but it still made Santana's chest feel pleasantly warm.

"Well then… I suppose we both have promises to keep now, don't we?" And with that Rachel stepped away from the cheerleader, heading into the classroom and glancing back only long enough to smile brightly before moving to take her seat at the front of the room.

The final bell rang just as Santana sat in her own seat near the back next to Brittany, and five minutes later Mr. Schuester walked in and greeted them all.

Brittany passed a note to her the second the man's back was turned away from them. _did u n rachel have sex in the closet?_

Santana's brows furrowed, looking over to Brittany for a moment, before writing back on the same sheet of paper, _wtf is with you and q all up on me and my sex life? and no_

Brittany just shrugged. _i don't know anything about sober quinn wanting sex with you but like you totally look like you had sex. so does rachel. she's glowing and red and hasn't stopped smiling_

Rolling her eyes, Santana couldn't fight the small, pleased smile that fluttered across her lips. _like i needs to sex someone up to make them a hot mess B_

_so you did have sex?_

_what? no. we were talking in the hallway_

_about sex_

_well duh_

_is hobbit sex like normal people sex?_

Before Santana could even attempt to answer that one, not to mention somehow remind Brittany that despite the ten million times she had said otherwise Rachel wasn't _actually_ a small, fictitious mini human, Mr. Schuester cleared his throat, directing his attention to them both.

"Te gustaría compartir con la clase, señoras?" he asked, making a (pathetic in Santana's opinion) attempt at being authoritative. All eyes were on them now, including Rachel, who looked confused and nervous; Santana supposed that by this point Rachel pretty much expected her to talk about the two of them with Brittany, and while the singer wasn't _wrong_ , she would, at some point, probably have to assure the girl that she wasn't giving away the nitty-gritty (sexy) details.

Santana shrugged. "Not really," she replied, in English, just to get a rise from the man.

Mr. Shue sighed, shaking his head. "Preste atención, Santana," he said, then turned back to the board.

Less than a minute later Santana felt her phone vibrate. She slipped it from where it was tucked in the strap of her sports bra and did away with the lock screen, opening up her messages to see a message from Rachel.

_What were you and Brittany talking about?_

Her reply was quick and easy. _Us having sex. No i didnt say nething besides that we didnt. Calm down_

_I'm not not calm._

_Pls. I can feel u vibrating w/ anxiety from back here_

_I'm fine. I am._

_Sure. Well talk after class. Stop freaking out_

There were no more texts after that, and thankfully Rachel did appear to calm down.

Santana sighed. Apparently that conversation was going to be happening sooner rather than later. _At least it'll be out of the way so I can gets back to focusing on the important things. ...Like what other possible little kinks she's got._

That thought alone was more than enough to get Santana through the rest of Spanish class, even _with_ Will Schuester's terrible accent and borderline racist commentary of her heritage.

* * *

Kurt, Blaine, Tina, Mike, and Artie cornered Rachel after that class, aborting her plans of waiting by the door for Santana and Brittany. "But, wait, I have plans to eat with…"

Kurt craned his head around the door, finally sighing and rolling his eyes. "Rachel. You already spent study hall with her."

Her eyes widening, Rachel hoped her split-second look of shock hadn't been noticed; she purposefully told herself the grins and cough-laughs rippling through the group in front of her were coincidental. "How do you know that?"

Artie held up his hand. "Girl, please. You know nothing stays quiet in these halls."

 _...That was a highly unsatisfying answer,_ Rachel frowned to herself, but really, there was no point in trying and asking again. It was probably the glee phone tree, anyway.

"And you still have free period," Tina offered helpfully, if a little awkwardly.

Sighing, dropping her shoulders, Rachel glanced at Santana again, an unconscious smile lifting the corners of her lips as she watched the girl patiently wait for Brittany to finish copying something into her day-planner. She turned back to the eager eyes looking at her. "I'll text her. But we do have to go by my locker to pick up my lunch."

Coughing, Blaine pulled something from his backpack. Off Rachel's look, he explained, "We, er, got Puck to break in and get it," and handed her lunchbox to her.

"We figured it would more likely make you agree to eat with us," Tina added.

" _And_ less likely for Santana to catch up," Mike admitted, grinning ruefully. He held up his hands, mouthing, 'what?' when Kurt glared at him.

Artie nodded while Blaine and Tina looked away.

Kurt closed his eyes, shaking his head. " _Anyway_. Inside or outside?"

Less than ten minutes later, taking a seat on the ground level bleachers behind the baseball diamond (ostensibly for Santana to have less of a chance to find them; Rachel had to give her friends credit, even if she found it more than somewhat ridiculous), Rachel primly set her lunchbox down next to her, arranged her backpack comfortably behind her, and took out her phone. "I can _hear_ you," she stated, typing out, _Having lunch with Kurt, Blaine, Artie, Tina, and Mike. Are you going to "kidnap" me for free period again?_ "I told you I was going to text her. After I send it, you'll have my complete attention, I promise."

Not five seconds later, her phone vibrated. _Lame. But dont worry abt it. Vesty mcgee held me after class. U bet ur sweet ass ur mine for fp. Have fun w/ the nerds_

Still smiling, Rachel jumped when she looked up to see knowing grins on everyone's faces. Oh no. She had been blushing, wasn't she? She put her phone back into her pocket and, pushing her hair behind her ear, she sat up straight. "Alright. I'm sure you have questions."

Kurt looked around at the group, and it was Tina who sort of nodded at him with a little shrug after. He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Are you two dating?" he asked, blunt as ever.

Rachel balked for a moment, then cleared her throat. "Um– No. I mean, not technically. We haven't really put a name to it. But we did agree to be exclusive."

"So you're having sex," stated Artie, his face caught between clearly wanting to know more and very clearly _not_ wanting to know more.

This time Rachel's blush was bright and hot, staining her cheeks and up to her ears. "No-. Well. Yes? But n- It depends on how you define sexual relations. There is um… I mean we do… _things_. Just… I haven't been naked yet. And she hasn't… you know. Touched me between my legs like that."

The group was clearly struggling with wanting their curiosity sated, and not actually wanting to know the details of Rachel's 'sapphic' adventures with the current Cheerios co-captain. Kurt and Blaine looked paler than usual, Tina's face was nearly as red as Rachel's, along with Mike's, and Artie still didn't know how much more he could actually handle hearing.

The singer shrugged, not making eye contact with any of them. "You did ask."

Coughing, trying to get rid of some of the awkward tension, Kurt shifted in his seat. "Yeah. Yeah we did. We just didn't… expect that much of an answer… …Anyway so… Exclusive. Okay. But…"

"Why _Santana_?" asked Tina, finally pointing out what had clearly been the elephant in the room.

Rachel bit her lip, then sighed. "I… I honestly don't know exactly."

Every one of them gave her incredibly skeptical looks.

Rachel huffed. "I'm serious. We shared a lot of detentions. And we kept butting heads a lot. You know how Santana can be. She antagonizes with terrifying skill."

"Exactly," spoke Kurt. "Antagonizes. Not 'sweep the gleek off her feet and into her bed' _s_..."

Rachel rolled her eyes again. "Listen, I don't even really know when things shifted. _Yes_ I considered her very attractive physically. Anyone remotely attracted to the female figure would probably say the same."

"Preach." "She's hot yeah." chorused Artie and Mike.

"That _said_ … She just… at some point, though I can't _quite_ place _when_ exactly, she started flirting with me." And before anyone could say a word, Rachel raised her hand and kept going, "I know. I know. Santana uses her sexual nature and attractive features to her advantage. She plays games all the time. …And that's what I was sure was happening as well. But then… Just…. a lot of things happened. I really haven't even fully processed it all, if I'm honest." Rachel took a breath, in and out, finally giving up on finishing the small amount of food she had left and placing it momentarily onto her lap. "But please… just trust me when I say I trust her. _She's_ been the one to help things along more than anything. I've largely just freaked out a lot and questioned her every motive. …In hindsight, I'm amazed she didn't give up already."

Tina nodded, looking fascinated, but also convinced. "I mean… Santana can be really patient when she's got an evil scheme… But if this _is_ meant to be some elaborate prank… it's a lot more work than she usually bothers with. _A lot_ more work. And with no one to be used as lackeys to make the work less for her."

The group nodded in agreement, and Artie spoke up. "I think if Rachel trusts Santana, we should at least trust her judgement. I mean I still wouldn't trust Santana to do anything for _us_ …" the others nodded again, murmuring agreements; Rachel frowned, "But this seems pretty chill right now."

"I think you could, you know. With enough time. And if everyone really tried," the shorter girl said. Everyone looked at her. Rachel shrugged. "None of us have really been good at offering any sort of olive branches to the other cliques. And I'm _not_ saying you should be offering that to Santana. If anything, she owes a lot of us apologies. Her, Puck, Quinn, Brittany even. Half of the club, even between the five of us, were antagonistic to one another before glee. Some of us still are. But trusts builds trust. And if nothing else, what's happening between Santana and I right now has taught me that it has to be given and received equally by all parties involved."

There was quiet for several long moments, the other five looking at her, then one another, then off in different directions all together as they processed what was being said.

Finally, "I refuse to offer any sort of apology or peace offering first," spoke Kurt firmly.

Rachel nodded. "I know. All I'm saying is that… if it's offered to you, be willing to accept it. Try."

"...I will," Blaine spoke up, looking up from his clasped hands. "I mean," he shrugged, "I know her the least out of you, and she's been pretty… Helpful, actually, sometimes." When he registered Kurt's skeptical frown, he cleared his throat. "I'm not saying she's the nicest of people, but remember what she did to Karofsky, the first time I ever visited here? And you _can't_ tell me you're not grateful for how she arranged for you to come back here."

Tina and Mike and Artie exchanged glances, and Tina turned back, eyes flicking from Kurt and Blaine to Rachel and back, " _Santana_ did that?"

"I thought you knew. Or, well, that it was common knowledge," Rachel confirmed, a small proud - if she could call it that - smile on her face.

"No…" Artie admitted, looking down, obviously trying to process this new piece of information as well.

Mike hmmed, running his hand along the nape of his neck. "I think I _might_ have heard that – or even been told by Santana herself, but…" He smiled apologetically, "You always have to take whatever she says with a grain of salt."

"...Unless it's incredibly specific insults that aren't accompanied by that _infuriating_ fake smile of hers," Rachel chimed in. When everyone looked at her, she rolled her eyes. "What? Just because I'm involved with her I can't be honest?"

Cutting off any response she might have gotten, Kurt waved his hand in the air, letting out a long-suffering sigh. "Fine. She's not the _complete_ definition of Satan in the dictionary, and she _has_ helped us. But that's all I'm going to say unless _she_ , as I previously mentioned, says something first." He nodded, then smiled when Blaine squeezed his arm.

"Thank you, Kurt." Things having gone potentially better than they could have, Rachel spontaneously hugged her friend, touched despite the clumsy way he and everyone had gotten her outside. When she pulled back, she tilted her head, unable to stop from asking, "So, are you going to tell me the _other_ reason you kidnapped me? It can't be just to prevent Santana from crashing. You and I all know she eats with the Cheerios." ... _Except for when she's having her way with me in the locker room_ , she finished silently, hoping she wasn't blushing again.

"Rachel. She hasn't eaten with the Cheerios since the first week of school."

"What?" That actually surprised Rachel. Having spent most of her lunches in the music room or the auditorium or the library every so often, she'd assumed Santana would have followed her previous routine from the first two and a half years of high school. "Where has she been eating, then?"

"Well, it changed when she got together with The Troubletones – and don't believe we _aren't_ going to talk about how you basically allowed yourself to be seduced by the _rival glee captain_ – **_again_** – but before then, when not off-campus with the other two-thirds of the Unholy Trinity, she spent most of her time tutoring Brittany and Puck and Becky and whoever else showed up in the empty classroom at the far end of the school."

 _What_? "H-how did I not know that?"

"Because you've always been on top of your studies, probably," Tina smiled at her.

Artie nodded. "That, and it's not like she broadcasts the information. In fact, she actually threatens you the first time you show up, and then again whenever she feels like it, that she'll make your life hell if word gets around. She's pretty scary. _I_ only found out because Puck blabbed, complaining how hard she was riding him – t-to get his grades up, I mean."

Giving Artie a sideways look, as if saying, _Really? You felt the need to make_ _ **that**_ _clear?_ , to which the younger boy coughed, clearing his throat, Mike shook his head and turned back to Rachel. "Yeah, I heard from him too. If we thought you might have needed more help, Tina and I probably would have brought it up with you. If you get past her acerbic comments – and avoid talking about _anything_ other than your homework or classes – it was almost…" He paused, searching for a word.

"Comfortable?" Blaine offered, smiling ruefully. "Oh, I went a couple of times," he explained. "Math is not my strong suit."

"Yeah, comfortable works."

"But it's Santana, so…" Tina finished her sandwich, brushing her hands together to get rid of the crumbs after depositing her tray on the ground below her, "You kind of had to take your chances with her and what mood she was in."

"She also had a habit of making fun of you when you got things wrong, but I have to admit it was very rarely as bad as she could have made it."

"Everyone except Becky and Brittany, of course," Artie added.

"Oh, of course."

"Yeah."

Trying to grapple with that new knowledge, as well as figure out how well it fit with the Santana she was beginning to get to know, Rachel idly played with the container that had held her veggie sandwich. When she realized someone was talking to her again, she looked up. "Hmm?"

Kurt gave Rachel a look, but repeated himself. "I said, to go back and answer your original question, we figured that if we didn't take matters into our own hands and simply start stealing you, we'd all wake up one day and there'd be an Unholy Foursome, or whatever. I swear, you've spent every waking moment you can with Santana."

"Which isn't bad," insisted Tina. "New relationship… thing. Wanting to get to know each other. Spend time together. Totally okay."

"Totally," agreed Mike, wrapping an arm around Tina's shoulders with a grin.

"But we're not letting her take you from us," Kurt went on. "If she wants to be… exclusively whatever she is with you, that's fine. But it's a packaged deal and she'll have to accept that you still are friends, _best friends_ , with 'losers'."

"We aren't losers," Rachel insisted firmly.

"Santana would say otherwise."

"She wouldn't––…" Frustratingly, Rachel couldn't really bring herself to finish that sentence. Santana was a lot of things, a lot of good things. But she was still _Santana_ , and she probably did still see her friends as losers. Though _how_ exactly the Latina chose to consider that term, be it purely as an insult or some weird term of friendly affection…? Rachel didn't know. The cheerleader was notoriously hard to read.

The singer huffed. "Okay. But still. What I said before stands. And also, what we do know, all of us now, thanks to Blaine, is that if nothing else Santana takes care of her own. Even if she has a very strange spectrum and way of categorizing that. It _was_ her that asked Quinn to take us off the List, you know."

Again, they all stared shell-shocked, until Blaine slowly raised a hand. "...What's the list?"

Artie replied. "The Slushy Hit List. Only Quinn can change it, but not without agreement from Santana. And Santana can only ask Quinn to change it, she can't do it herself."

"...This… this is really specific and overly dramatic."

Rachel nodded. "It is. The formidablness that our school hierarchy has maintained is... impressive. If terrifying and over the top. That said, the point is that several of us are – were – on that list. Where you are on it deems how often you get slushied in the rotation. The rotation changes fairly consistently, but to add or take away from the List is a _much_ bigger deal."

Blaine nodded slowly, trying to process. "So… Santana, and Quinn, did like, a _huge_ thing. Even though they still think we're losers."

Rachel smiled, the action small. "I like to think that, if nothing else, we're _their_ losers."

Kurt scoffed, grimacing a little. "That's kind of sickening. But flattering in a horrific way."

Tina and Artie just shrugged, Tina saying, "I haven't had to throw any clothes away for the past week. I don't care why or what made them do it. I'm just glad it's been done."

"I can actually wear my favorite vests again. And socks."

Finally, with a groan, Kurt conceded the point. "Okay. Again, _fine_. But _still_."

"I know, I know. I know," sighed Rachel. "Just… trust me, okay? I trust her. And I think eventually, she can trust you, and you can trust her, and maybe we, as a glee family, can actually trust one another. All of us. _And_ , I promise that whatever is happening between Santana and I will not have a negative impact on our friendships."

"Good." Kurt smiled, the others doing the same behind him.

Smiling back, Rachel decided it was time to _finally_ change the subject. "Now, now that we've cleared that up, I know we have already gone over our performance for Sectionals, but I think this is a good time to get one-on-one, so to say, impressions from you all in this more intimate of a setting."

The reactions she got were both amusing and disappointing. While she _was_ partly teasing, it still sometimes bothered her how little her teammates seemed to care about taking every opportunity to learn and better themselves. So, firming her expression, she turned to Tina. "Tina. Would you like to start?"

* * *

Santana, leaning against the counter as she impatiently waited for her smoothie to be done, alternated glaring at the Smoothie Hut employee and playing with her phone. Though she knew the nerds wouldn't be capable of swaying Rachel's opinion of her, and that it probably wasn't a _bad_ thing - if not frustrating to her libido - that they weren't spending lunch together, it _was_ surprising that Rachel hadn't texted her yet. That just seemed like something the girl would do. After all, she'd been privy to tales of her 'romantic obsessive craziness' from Finn on more than one occasion when they were dating.

"H-here," the Smoothie Hut employee squeaked, all but shoving her smoothie at her. "P-please come again!"

Duh. The Smoothie Hut was, like, the only _good_ smoothie place in all of Lima. She'd tried the ones at The Lima Bean and been underwhelmed, while the other place, situated across town, had been blacklisted by Sue two months ago and had promptly gone out of business. Santana had _not_ had fun finding the wild rats needed to infest the back room and kitchen, but at least Brittany's summer in the sewers had made the task easier.

"Yeah, whatever," she replied, "Maybe. Just, one tip: next time you make me a smoothie – _if_ I come back, that is, it better be finished before anyone else's. If I have to wait one second more than needed, it's _your_ paycheck that's gonna pay for it."

Quinn, standing behind her with her arms crossed, audibly rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's best to just humor her," she said, walking up; taking Santana's elbow, she pulled her away, hissing in her ear as Santana smirked once more at the poor guy, tauntingly waving her hand in a ta-ta motion, "What would Berry have said if she'd seen you just now?"

"Well, she didn't, so it doesn't matter, Q, does it." Taking her elbow back, Santana frowned at her. "It's like you're totally expecting me to be a suddenly different person. It's weird. You're concerning me." Lifting her free hand after slipping her phone back into her sports bra, she put the back of it on the blonde's forehead. "You gettin' premature hot flashes, Fabray?"

"Stop it." Batting her hand away, Quinn lengthened her stride to quicken their approach to the Wetzel's Pretzels across the food court. "Come on. Let's just get B's Almond Crunch. I don't have free period like you do."

"You're the one who wanted to go to the mall," Santana hummed, taking a sip of her Tropical Paradise smoothie. "Don't get me wrong. I love leaving the hellhole that is McKinley High as much as anyone, but _you're_ the one who insisted going with only twenty minutes left before your class."

Quinn shook her head, pushing her hair behind her ear as she gave Santana an unamused look. "Like I had _any_ control over Mr. Schue keeping you back." She tilted her head, relaxing a little as she walked up to the counter, "What did he want, anyway?"

Swallowing her current mouthful of smoothie to jump into Quinn's order with, "Oh, and an original, no sauce, for me, too, thanks," she smirked again at the blonde before sobering, her brow pinching, "He was on another one of his racist 'big ideas' for how I can participate in class. You know, I'm seriously starting to believe Sue when she says that the amount of hair gel that lives on his head is seeping in through his scalp to his brain and turning him into some kind of mindless gel golem. _How_ many times do I have to tell him my family's mainly from Baja California Sur before he fucking stops talking Mexico City with me? And if not that, he then only mentions, like, the parts that border the U.S. And that's _not_ racist how, either?"

Thanking the Wetzel's employee when she handed the order over, Quinn frowned. Motioning at a bench off to the side, she led the way once Santana neutrally shrugged, handing her her pretzel once they were seated. "You think he's purposefully doing it?"

"That, or mixing me up with some of the other Latino students, which, _also_ racist and insulting." Santana shook her head. "It's gotten worse ever since I heard the rumor that he's up for tenure."

"Tenure? _Him_? For _Spanish_?"

"I know. The world must be ending."

The girls lapsed into silence for a few moments, Quinn not exactly sure how she was supposed to react, but wanting to be supportive. Finally, she settled on shifting closer, lightly bumping her with her elbow. Santana gave her a small smile, bumped her back while taking a bite of her pretzel, and they sat for a few more seconds.

Just as Quinn was about to break the silence to remind Santana that she needed to get back, Santana exclaimed and jumped from the bench, jerking the blonde's attention away from her watch. "Oh _shit_. _Yes_. Stay here; I'mma pick something up for tonight."

"What's happening tonight?"

Stopping her long strides to turn back, Santana's smirk was entirely lecherous. "Why? You wanna join?"

Quinn grimaced, and Santana just laughed as she walked off.

A few minutes later a young girl, probably two years younger than herself, appeared next to Quinn, sitting about where Santana had sat, though with more space between her and the ex-cheer captain.

Quinn glanced at her, giving a small smile, and the girl smiled back.

A beat, and "So… What's a pretty girl like you doing here just sitting all alone?" followed by, before Quinn could react, "Oh my god, I'm sorry. That was really bad. And gross." The girl winced, and Quinn snorted, turning fully to look at her.

"I've heard more obscene, I assure you," she offered, raising a brow at the rainbow wristband, snap back, flannel shirt, and ear studs. What had Santana called this look again? Butch?

The girl rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "I don't think that's a good thing. I'm sorry, again. I just, you looked like you were either waiting for someone or just really bored, and I mean you _are_ gorgeous, so…"

Was she actually being hit on?

All of her past experiences being hit on led to the conclusion of yes, she definitely was.

Oh if Santana could see her now.

Quinn's smile became a little more real. "I'm flattered. Very flattered. But I think I'm a little out of your target group."

The girl deflated a bit, though didn't seem surprised. "Straight, huh?"

"And a senior. McKinley High, actually."

"Oh, shit- wait, wait." Realization seemed to dawn on her, and the girl went bright red. "Oh my God you're _Quinn Fabray_. Oh shit- I am so sorry. Oh my god you're even hotter in person- shit. Shit. I'm sorry."

Before Quinn could get a word in, or try to calm the poor girl down, Santana's voice came from behind her.

"Fucking hell, you again? Seriously?"

Color seemed to drain instantly from the younger girl's face, and she stood up quickly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I thought- I mean the other girl, but- both? Or-? I should go. It was really nice meeting you. And um, please don't use your razor blades on me." With that the girl was gone, walking away at a speedy pace, nearly a jog, and Santana just huffed.

Quinn looked at her, glaring. "What was _that_?"

"Chick delivered our Thai awhile ago. She's weird."

A smirk. "She hit on Rachel, didn't she?"

" _Shut up_. I gots my thing, let's go."

Standing, Quinn glanced at the bag, raising a brow at the bright red Spencer's logo across the front. "I'm letting your apparent terrorizing of the local LGBTQ population slide for now. What's in the bag?"

"Q." A slow, wide, wolfish grin crossed Santana's face. "Two things. Are you, one, _actually_ prepared to see what's in here? And two, _actually_ willing to subject your mind to the ensuing mental image of Berry n' me after seeing it?"

Quinn closed her eyes, shook her head, and did an abrupt about face, "Good point. I don't want to know." She gathered up Brittany's pretzel and Santana's smoothie, shoving them into her arms as she strode past her. "We have five minutes. You're dropping me off before you park."

Still grinning, Santana caught up with her. "Love you too, Quinnie Bear."

"Ugh."

* * *

"Here's the thing," Santana said in lieu of a greeting, sliding her arm over Rachel's shoulders after walking up behind where she had been waiting at her locker, "I have this _awesome_ present – for the both of us – stashed in my locker. The question is…" She lowered her voice, her nose nudging the shell of Rachel's ear as she whispered directly into it, "Do you want to be a _good girl_ and wait for it until our sleepover, or do you want to be a _naughty girl_ and have me retrieve it for _now_?"

Rachel sucked in a deep breath, the combination of both _naughty_ and _good girl_ in Santana's husky, suggestive voice in the same sentence instantly making her mind space out. "W-what?"

"Mmm. What I said." Sliding around, arm still around Rachel's shoulders, bringing their upper bodies closer to each other, Santana put her hand under the smaller girl's chin, gently but firmly pushing her head up, looking into her eyes. She made sure, while in Rachel's personal space, she wasn't caging her in. That was for later. When Rachel was ready. "Are you a _good girl_ or a _naughty girl_?"

"I…" Rachel swallowed. She wanted to close her eyes, but soft pressure on her chin and a steady look in her eyes told her Santana wanted her to keep her grounded through sight. She… didn't know what to say.

Santana tilted her head. "Or is the sleepover not tonight? Being Friday, I would have thought you would have taken the opportunity to start our _weekend_ today…"

"It is!" was the hurried, nearly desperate reply. Then, clearing her throat, again, "It is. Definitely. But um...What would… I mean, we're in _school_."

Santana chuckled, kissing her cheek. "That's why it's _naughty_ , Berrylicious…"

Biting her lip, Rachel swallowed hard. "T-tonight. Please."

Santana's smirk softened to a small, reassuring smile, and she pecked the shorter girl's nose. "Good girl, then. Good girls get rewards. I'll keep that in mind tonight."

The smile that crossed Rachel's pink cheeks was nearly blinding, and she went so far as to push her chest out a little.

As Santana began walking them down the hall, looking for a bit of privacy for their free period, she chuckled. "Proud of yourself, hm?"

Rachel faltered for a moment. "Should I not be?"

"No, looks good on you. Though you know there wasn't a _wrong_ answer, right?"

"I'm aware. Or, I mostly was. But you mentioned a reward."

Santana laughed, pulling Rachel more fully against her side. "Somehow I am not _at all_ surprised that a girl with an _obsession_ for gold stars likes a _reward_ system."

The singer frowned, her blush returning, but before she could think too much on Santana's words, the girl was whispering in her ear again.

"Just remember… With _rewards_ , comes _punishments._ "

Rachel shivered.


	27. Chapter 27

For all the talk of  _rewards_  and  _punishments_ , the beginning of Rachel and Santana's free period was spent pretty tamely. Curled up on the plush chaise lounge left backstage after the theater department's production of  _Antony and Cleopatra_ , after a couple of kisses Santana had pulled back, squeezing Rachel's hand in hers. "Have fun with the nerds?" she asked, looking extremely skeptical.

A shocked, small laugh left Rachel's lips, and she gave Santana a searching, affectionate look. "You stop kissing me to ask about how my lunch was?"

"No." Santana scowled playfully, tugging at Rachel's fingers. She sat up, moving from being half-draped across Rachel to being properly reclined against the back of the chaise instead, "I asked about the  _nerds_."

 _At least that's better than losers_ , Rachel mused, sitting up as well,  _But I don't think they would appreciate it, either_. Patting her hair down and moving mussed bangs away from her face, she took the few moments needed to situate her ruffled blouse correctly over her breasts. "They just wanted to know about us."

"Tschh. Not surprised. We're hot shit." Santana idly tightened her ponytail. Then, turning her head to look at Rachel, she smirked, leaning in.

Already closing her eyes in preparation for another kiss, heart still thrumming from the previous embrace, Rachel shivered, surprise making her eyes flutter open as Santana's finger stroked along her cheek.

Holding her finger up, an eyelash balancing on the tip, Santana smiled at her. "Make a wish."

Rachel blushed, smiling and biting her lower lip. She closed her eyes though, was silent for several seconds, before opening them and blowing the eyelash away.

Santana raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"If I tell you it won't come true."

The Cheerio rolled her eyes. "That's for shooting stars, you dork."

But the smaller girl was unperturbed. "Well, I'm using it for now."

With a smirk, Santana leaned in, trailing a hand up Rachel's thigh and under her skirt. "Did you wish for something naughty, Sweetberry? Or…" she squeezed Rachel's ass firmly. "Maybe you want your reward already?"

Another shiver that then turned into a contented sigh as Santana's hands now moved upwards, over Rachel's back to start kneading the stiff muscles there. "Mmmm…" groaned the girl. "Is this…?"

"No," chuckled Santana. "I just wanted to make you feel good."

More blushing, but no feelings of embarrassment. "You're really sweet, you know."

"Mmn. Don't mention it. Ever. To anyone."

Rachel laughed quietly, but leaned in to peck Santana on the nose, making the Cheerio's face scrunch up. "It'll be our secret. ...Of course… I might need some compensation."

"You'll be stealing all my moves in no time," Santana muttered, but smiled, brushing her nose against Rachel's shoulder, as if wiping it off; she rubbed along Rachel's lower back again. "What kind of compensation are we talking about?"

Rachel sucked her lower lip into her mouth, smiling around it. It wouldn't hurt to try. "We are reasonably hidden from the school populous, correct?"

Her eyebrows rising, Santana hmmed. "I'd say that aside from Sue's hidden cameras - " she paused, "Sorry, Sue's  _alleged_  hidden cameras - we're pretty well insulated from anyone except crazy theater nerds. But, wait, you're already here." She grinned, pleased at the rolled eyes she got in response. "What's up?"

"It's just an idea."

"Which... "

"...And maybe it's better to wait. No, I'm sorry, let's just forget that until later. I'm sure I can think of something else."

Santana, having been watching the confident, teasing girl quickly spiral into an unsure, blushing mess, had a pretty good idea that whatever Rachel had been thinking was of the sexual nature and, no, now she  _really_  had to know. She slid her hands down again, squeezing Rachel's ass, the singer immediately moaning and staring, wide-eyed at her. "Am I gonna have to do this again to make you talk?"

"Th-that's not fair," Rachel squeaked, but shifted, trying to regain her composure even with her hands clutching tightly to Santana's arms. She cleared her throat.

"'M not fair. Spill."

Oh goodness… Rachel could feel her face heating up again. Now it was even worse because she'd lost her nerve. And  _she_  was the one who had practically  _told_  Santana she wanted to… to  _pleasure_  her later that night? "I…" she swallowed, caught by Santana's dark, waiting gaze, "Would like to touch you. Over the shirt. Like you have done so with me. In the locker room. Yesterday. Around the same time as to-"

Santana kissed her, firmly but softly, and even though Rachel knew she should probably feel at least somewhat miffed at getting stopped, relief spiraled through her instead. "Thank you," she whispered when Santana pulled back.

Santana nodded. "We were starting to lose you." Studying Rachel, she gently stroked her thumbs up and down her lower back, obviously thinking. Finally, blinking and relaxing, a real smile spreading across her face again, Santana asked, "You want to touch me?"

Rachel nodded.

"Over my Cheerio top and sports bra."

"I'm… Aware the limitations for sports bras on getting a real feel - well, a real,  _different_ , feel - but I do." Rachel's eyes flickered down. "And before I die from embarrassment at being  _so terrible_ at this, please."

Leaning in again, Santana kissed Rachel slowly, just as firm and soft as moments ago, easing Rachel into a more relaxed state and waiting for the tension to melt from her shoulders. She pulled back only an inch, lightly kissing down the girl's jawline and neck. "You aren't terrible; you're adorable and sexy. So,  _touch me_."

"Y-yes, - yes. Okay." Rachel swallowed hard, leaning back so that she could see Santana fully, and then brought her hands down from the cheerleader's shoulders to her covered chest. At the same time, Santana relaxed back against the chaise, pushing her chest out more and humming softly in approval as Rachel's small hands delicately began to knead and massage her breasts. There wasn't much to work with, her sports bra giving her a relatively flatter chest, not to mention her uniform top, but just the fact that it was Rachel's hands on her, with that mixture of curiosity and the stubborn need to perform to a certain level, had Santana moaning quietly here and there. She closed her eyes, her hands continuing to grip and massage Rachel's hips, and every so often would grind up against the girl, making the singer whimper and herself growl.

"Geez, babe," murmured Santana, "So good. Harder, though. Don't be afraid to grip more."

Rachel complied, and to her embarrassment, felt her mouth begin to water.

The only thing she could think about, suddenly, was having her lips on Santana's nipple, sucking and licking, tugging lightly, the Cheerio's hand tight in her hair and maybe her other hand on her chest or-

Rachel quivered, arousal shooting through her so fast that she nearly doubled over, gasping. "Oh god. Okay. I uh- I think we um, should cool off."

The grip on her waist tightened, and then, with the speed and flexibility Rachel was sure only cheerleading allowed her, Santana flipped them, pressing Rachel's back to the seat under them and mounting her hips. The Latina pinned Rachel's wrists next to her head, nostrils flaring and eyes dark.

For a moment Rachel was nearly afraid, but that was quickly replaced with more arousal, and when she swallowed she was sure she felt her throat bob. "S-Santana?"

"What were you thinking about just now?" asked the taller girl, voice low and husky, lips right against Rachel's pulse.

Releasing a very shaky breath, the singer replied, "I… my mouth. Instead of my hands."

" _Fuck_ ," growled Santana, grinding hard against the smaller girl's pelvis. Her body tensed, and she forced herself to stop, taking deep breaths to try and calm herself down. Her body was practically roaring, aching to have Rachel. And god she had  _just_ promised the girl that they could slow down.

Slowly she loosened her grip on Rachel's wrists, settling down over the girl and nuzzling into her neck as she lightly panted. "You, Rachel Berry, are way too fucking sexy."

Rachel shifted under the cheerleader, moving to snuggle in under her more, desperately trying to ignore the hot, throbbing wetness between her legs. "Yeah…?"

"Yes. God. You have no idea how badly I just want to- I'm sorry. Fuck. We said slower. I know. I swear I'm not trying to be an ass."

Rachel's soft hands settled over her shoulder blades, pulling her down against her. "I don't blame you," she assured, voice still shaky and thick, "I… I was the one who started it." She exhaled, and Santana pressed a kiss to her neck, "I'm sorry."

"Uhn-un." Drawing in a long, deep breath, Santana slowly eased herself off Rachel, giving her a quick kiss that she made absolutely sure wouldn't grow into anything that could get out of control on her way up. "If this was a blame game, which it isn't, there's no use in pointing fingers."

That made Rachel smile again, and she nodded, following Santana up. Sitting up felt safer than continuing to lie down, practically  _inviting_  Santana on top of her again.

She still had to catch her breath.  _I really make Santana that aroused_? she wondered, heart thumping.

 _At least she doesn't think I'm a fuckboy_ , Santana groaned to herself, her head dropped back against the chaise back, her eyes closed as she tried to breathe out the scent and feel of Rachel.  _This is far past ridiculous_.

A tickling sensation on her ear and warm pressure along her arm and thigh made her look up, her heart squeezing when she realized Rachel had shifted closer, leaning against her with her head on her shoulder. Taking pity on the probably awkward position, Santana leaned away just long enough to raise her arm, sliding it around Rachel's shoulders when she moved back in. Realizing how close the smaller girl's face was to her chest, Santana smirked, unable to resist, "Just can't get enough of the girls, can you?"

Groaning and blushing again, Rachel poked her thigh. "Stop. If you don't stop trying to get a rise out of me, we're  _not_  going to get out of here without doing something we really, really shouldn't."

"Oh, like I'm going to stop  _now_."

"Oh goodness. Santana- Hey- wait- Eek!"

* * *

Detention had lasted  _forever_ , for Rachel. But it timed itself somewhat perfectly by being over,  _finally being over_  – she was  _free_!, practically at the same time Santana got done with Cheerios practice.

She waited outside the locker rooms, humming to herself happily as she waited for her… Santana to meet her.

A few minutes into the wait and the door opened as Cheerios began filing out, most limping or groaning, the seniors and juniors only wincing slightly with each step. Santana was the last out, freshly showered and changed into a pair of tight acid washed blue jeans and a Cheerios tank top, her letterman thrown over her shoulder. Without even bothering to wait for the rest of the squad to clear the hallway, she pressed Rachel against the nearest wall and kissed her soundly, pulling back with a small smile.

"Mmn, missed those lips," she said before Rachel could get a word in.

Rachel snorted, rolling her eyes and fighting back her own smile. "Just the lips?"

Santana smirked, dropping her duffel bag to the floor and giving Rachel her jacket to put on over her argyle sweater-vest. The weather was cooling quickly, but Santana ran hot and her car was right up at the front of the parking lot. Holding her bag in her right hand and wrapping her left arm around Rachel's waist, she guided them down the hall to the front doors.

"So… this sleepover. Dad's on an over-night at the hospital, Mom and my brothers are visiting my aunt in Columbus. Think your dads can fend for themselves tonight?"

Rachel curled up into Santana's side, wrapping the letterman around herself happily and inhaling the scent of Santana and her perfume. "I think so. And I assumed we'd be at your place anyway, so I already have permission."

"Ohh, lookit you being so confident like that," teased the taller girl.

Rachel puffed her chest out a little, winking. "You're getting predictable."

Santana stopped, her mouth dropping open. She turned on her heel, staring at Rachel. "You take that back."

"Take what back?" Rachel asked innocently.

"That I'm predictable. The  _only_  thing predictable about me is that I'm a bitch."

Rachel snorted, then immediately tried to cover it, her amused smirk obvious behind her hand. "Do you," she started, let out a smothered laugh, and began again, "Do you know how predictable it is that you pull out that line, too?"

"Really?" A muscle in Santana's jaw twitched, but a competitive gleam started to grow in her eyes, "Miss Barbra Streisand and Broadway? And besides, it's  _not_  predictability. It's the  _truth_. I'm a bitch and I make sure people know it."

"...Just as I make sure people know the path in life I am going to have." Still smiling, but more affectionate, less patronizing, Rachel reached out, taking Santana's hands. "I didn't say it was a  _bad_  thing that you're predictable. Just that you are."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Tell me, aside from being a bitch, how am I predictable?"

Rachel couldn't resist, pulling Santana closer so she could have a better grip on her hands, lacing their fingers together. "Santana. Though I have known you for years, these past few months in detention have only given me more insight into you that you joining glee club started. Though you  _are_  a bitch, as you so happily recite multiple times a day, I'm sure, there are things you do  _other_  than being that that are fairly easy to, well, 'predict'."

"I'm still waiting for you to start talking and stop narrating, Barbra."

At least it was a good sign, Santana still using a nickname that  _wasn't_  insulting. And she hadn't pulled back her hands, either.

"Are you pouting?" asked Rachel, a giggle just at the edge of her sentence. Santana's scowl deepened, proving Rachel's point, and the giggle had to be swallowed down.

" _Santana_ ," Rachel smiled, exasperated. "Is this  _really_ how you want to be spending your time with me, right now? Standing here, in a school hall, fully  _clothed_?" She leaned in, pressing little kisses all over Santana's jaw and neck, stubbornly hugging the girl to her. "When we could be at your house, much less clothing, a bed, my lips on you… in…  _other_  places?"

Santana groaned, closing her eyes and cursing her libido. She refused to look down at Rachel. If she did, she'd probably see the girl's way too cute, sexy smile, and then she'd completely forget about how insulted she currently was.

" _Still_  waiting for your examples, princess," she grumbled, biting her tongue when Rachel nuzzled against her neck. She felt warmth breath against the shell of her ear, and then,

"But I wore these new, lacy underwear just for you…"

 _Fuck_.

Santana's brain shut down for a solid three seconds, throat going dry and a throb going straight to her core.

Okay, yeah. Fuck the examples. This clothing in public thing had to not be happening.

Without warning Santana dropped her bag, pulled Rachel up against her, pushed her thigh between Rachel's, and ground their pelvises together  _hard_  as she bit down on the side of the smaller girl's neck, sucking until she was absolutely sure that there would be a mark.

It was the first time she had ever left such an obvious hickey, and when she released Rachel, the singer was panting heavily, pupils blown and face red.

"Car. Now. Because if we don't get to my house in the next ten minutes I swear to god you'll be sucking my tits in the backseat," growled Santana, her own face flushed and eyes just as dark.

Rachel could do little more than nod frantically, practically shoving Santana's bag back into her hand, taking her other hand into hers, and drag the Cheerio out to the parking lot.

* * *

By the time they made it into the driveway of Santana's house, the new pair of panties Rachel had slipped into after detention were already soaked. Though she was pretty sure Santana  _wasn't_  going to get a look at them, she had just… wanted to be ready for the possibility. Besides, the cheerleader already knew, now, and the way her dark, dark eyes had looked at her every moment they weren't on the road, it was obvious the idea that she had put on new underwear just for that evening was still very, very effective. Right before Santana slammed the car into park, Rachel had to wonder if they were going to even get  _out_  of the car before Santana's naked top was presented to her.

More wet heat pooled between her legs, and Rachel squirmed. Slow or not when it came to her, her body didn't know the difference.

But instead of lunging across the front to kiss her or reaching up to pull off her shirt, Santana breathed in heavily through her nose, held the breath, and then exhaled before meeting Rachel's eyes. "I know you don't want this happening in the car," she husked, "And I highly doubt it'll be any more comfortable anywhere other than inside my bedroom. So this is what we're going to do. You are going to go inside first, and I'll follow with our stuff. How I'll find you in my bedroom will be up to you."

Oh  _god_ … The  _images_  that brought up. Feeling unable to speak, Rachel nodded. It  _was_  true she'd be more comfortable in the other girl's bedroom. She'd only been in the Lopez house a couple of times, and that was so…  _open_.

"Good." Santana nodded. "Let's go."

Five minutes later, perched awkwardly on the end of Santana's bed as she waited for her, Rachel kept shifting, the cool air in Santana's bedroom making the newly uncovered skin on her arms and legs tingle. Though she hadn't disrobed completely, and even slipped into a particular pair of sweat shorts she'd slipped into her backpack because she knew from prior knowledge they did  _wonders_  for her legs, Rachel was ready for more skin-on-skin contact. Just because she wasn't going to be naked and Santana… might - Rachel bit down on her tongue to stop the noise that threatened to come out of her throat at the thought - didn't mean she wasn't going to want to be able to  _feel_  as much as she could.

Oh god, Rachel repeated for the nth time, sliding her hands into her hair as she covered her face with her palms,  _she was going to be_ _ **touching**_ _Santana_.


	28. Chapter 28

To her credit, Rachel wasn't shaking nearly as much as she thought she would be, nor was Santana snickering or rolling her eyes as the smaller woman undressed the cheerleader from the waist up.

They were in Santana's room, the door closed and locked (though no one would be home for quite some time), with Santana laid back against her headboard now completely topless. She had herself propped up on several pillows, and was offering Rachel a small, reassuring smile - though whether or not Rachel saw it, given how the girl seemed to be staring at her naked chest, was up for discussion.

Santana cleared her throat. "You need a moment, Rachel?" she asked, voice soft and teasing, her lips in a small, amused smirk.

Rachel blinked, cheeks turning red as she forced her eyes up to Santana's face. "W-what? Oh. no. Sorry. I just…" Her gaze wandered down again, and Santana chuckled, pushing her chest out a little more and using her hands to lift and squeeze her tits together, her thumbs toying with her nipples.

"You wanna touch 'em, right? Maybe get your lips on them?"

Rachel nodded, swallowing hard.

"Come here, Rachel," husked Santana. "They're all  _yours_  tonight…"

Slowly, moving to kneel between Santana's spread thighs, Rachel whimpered quietly as Santana reached out and took one of her hands, setting the small palm onto her right breast. "Focus on the nips. Don't pinch, just squeeze and tug. And definitely don't be afraid to use your lips, babe."

Again, Rachel nodded, reveling in how soft and firm Santana's breasts were, now that she had a hand on them.

And she really,  _really_ wanted to have her tongue on them. The strength of that urge was ridiculous, to the point of making her mouth water. She leaned forward, and Santana set a hand on the back of Rachel's head. There was no pressure behind it, just its presence, but that seemed to ground the smaller girl - both of them, really. Finally, Rachel sucked a pert nipple between her lips, moaning at the strange feeling of it against her tongue and fighting a pleased smile as Santana moaned just as forcefully.

" _Fuck…_ Yes… Fuck it's been way too long," growled Santana, pressing on the back of Rachel's head a little more now, her free hand guiding Rachel's own to her other tit. "Multi-task, babe. Know you can do it."

Santana's nipple was hard against her palm. Just as hard as the one between her lips and it, too, elicited a moan as she halved part of her mind to following the cheerleader's earlier instructions; she got sharp nails in her scalp and a hissed indrawn breath when she gave an exploratory roll of her tongue along the nipple, but before she could think she'd done something wrong, Santana mumbled something that sounded extremely positive.

She cleared her throat, making it clearer. "That. Continue that. Harder."

Pulling back, but barely managing to look away from the now shiny, wet with her saliva,  _begging_ nipple, Rachel licked her lips, her hand trembling on Santana's breast. "Which one?"

"Both."

"O-okay." Leaning back in, heart starting to thud again as she prepared to get her mouth on what she  _really_  wanted to get her mouth back on, Rachel abruptly paused. She sat back on her heels.

Cursing softly in her mind, Santana managed to keep herself from yanking Rachel back in; she shifted, hand falling to lightly rest on Rachel's shoulder. "Rache?"

"I'm sorry." Embarrassment flashed across Rachel's face, like even  _she_  couldn't believe she was interrupting getting back to where they had been, "I just…"

 _Fuck_. Santana's voice was thick when she rasped, "Too much?"

Rachel shook her head. " _No_. No. I like this. I do. I just… As I touch you and…  _Taste_  you, I… Ican'tstopthinkingabouthowifyou'velostanysenseofsensitivitybecauseofthebreastimplants. A-and if I should touch you a certain way or if how you like them getting touched have changed."

A loud, sudden bark of laughter left Santana's mouth as soon as she registered what Rachel had said. "You know what? I'm not even insulted. As if." She sat up, pulling Rachel in for a quick, hard kiss, smirking at the utterly flabbergasted expression her actions left on her. "That's so  _you_. You get your hands - and  _mouth_ \- on me, and yet…" She reached out, sliding the pads of her fingers along Rachel's forehead, tangling with her bangs, "That brain of yours is almost too distracted wonderin' about my breast implants." She cocked her head, tracing down beside Rachel's eye and resting on her cheekbone, "Though you do get points for making your question about how it feels  _for_  me.

"But to answer your question," Santana's smirk widened, "S'all me what I can feel. No loss. Only gain."

Red traveled up the smaller girl's face again, almost hot to the touch under Santana's thumb, but she nodded. Then, groaning, she covered her face with her hands, knocking Santana's hand away. "I'm so  _bad_  at this."

Santana couldn't help another laugh from escaping. "Sweetie." Gently prying Rachel's hands away, she smiled, meeting the girl's dark eyes squarely, "The only thing you're  _bad_  at is allowin' yourself to  _feel_ , not think. Here." She slid Rachel's hands back down, settling them onto her breasts again. Sighing happily, she pushed her hair behind her shoulders before sitting back again, widening her legs so Rachel could easily fit in between them again. "How 'bout we ease back into gettin' to know Auntie 'Tana's girls."

When Rachel, blush still fading, immediately squeezed, dropping in to nestle her face in the crook of Santana's neck, Santana groaned, heat pouring directly into her core. " _Fuck,_  you just holding them, babe…" She pushed herself harder into the soft, warm hands. " _So good_."

"I like how they feel," Rachel admitted, swallowing before nuzzling the other girl's jaw. She could still feel her drying saliva on Santana's breast, and it was only making her mouth water again. She couldn't believe she had sabotaged herself by asking about the  _breast implants_.

Kissing down the cheerleader's neck, Rachel exhaled, shivering as Santana once again placed her hand on the back of her head; her other stroked up and down her arm, keeping enough pressure to prevent Rachel from toppling into her. "You're so warm. Soft. And your… ... _Nipples_ … Are so  _hard_."

"They like you," Santana chuckled, voice husky. Scooting forward a little to be able to lean back against the pillows again, she threaded her fingers in the smaller girl's hair. The singer's lips were so soft and eager, mapping out her neck and shoulder, upper chest, her hands and fingers rolling and feeling out her nipples and the weight of her breasts. It was tentative and hesitant, seemingly more about  _feeling_  her then any real goal of giving her pleasure (at least not yet)… And Santana didn't fucking care.

Rachel Berry was kneeling in front of her, licking and sucking her way down to get her mouth back on her tits, hands already on her and obviously getting herself off on touching her if the quiet moans and hums in the back of her throat - not to mention the unsubtle shiver running through her - was any indication. Santana groaned. Would those crazy plush lips of hers and wet, tireless tongue continue down her body? The girl had certainly been frank about her desire of gettin' knuckle deep inside her. Santana was pretty sure that wasn't her wishful thinking talking, either.

When she finally felt Rachel's plush lips back on one of her hard nipples, the groan of relief was poignant, her hands tangling in the girl's long hair loosely. God she was wet. And  _fuck_ , she could not keep herself from picturing those lips  _much_ further down. "I bet you dream about licking me," she husked, making Rachel jerk suddenly in arousal and a surprised squeak muffle against her tit. Santana grinned lazily, eyes fluttering closed as she relaxed back into the pillows.

Another unsurprising thing: Rachel had a verbal kink.

She had known that, on some level, given how fucking  _soaked_ she could make the smaller girl with her words alone, but now that she was half naked and Rachel was actually  _on her_?

So much better.

"I'm fucking  _dripping_ right now, Rach," continued the Cheerio. "You wanna feel, right? Stretch out my pussy with your fingers?  _Fuck_ me?"

The whimpers and moans against her skin were becoming desperate, along with Rachel's hips thrusting against air, searching for friction.

Slowly Santana took Rachel's left hand in her right, guiding it down her tensed abs, the toned muscles quivering under the touch, and pressing the singer's fingers against her denim covered center. "Squeeze," she commanded, moaning when Rachel's small hand did just that, making the rough material of her jeans rub against her silk covered pussy. "Mmmmm  _fuck_ ," sighed the cheerleader, the hand in Rachel's hair tightening for a moment. "You wanna fuck my pussy, Rachel? Then you best start stripping me."

Rachel released the nipple from her lips with a wet pop, looking at Santana with wide, blown eyes and a deeply flushed face. She was panting, borderline breathless. The sight made Santana's heart squeeze and her clit throb.

With some effort on both their parts soon Santana was in nothing but her panties, with Rachel kneeling between her legs anxiously as the taller girl leisurely rubbed the wet spot in the center of the silk covering.

"S-Santana- Can I-"

"Not yet, babe," the Latina the interrupted, continuing to slowly stroke herself over her panties. "I want you to watch me touch myself. Watch  _closely_ …"

The swallow that Rachel made was audible, thick. Her hands on Santana's knees trembled, nostrils flaring as the smell of Santana's arousal filled them. Saliva gathered behind her lips, and she had to swallow again, an unbidden whimper coming up.

"Santana.  _Please_ ," Rachel groaned, squeezing her thighs together and unable to look away as the other girl slipped her fingers inside of her panties with a pleased hissed.

"Please, what?" came the husky reply, Santana's head back against the pillows and eyes closed, completely relaxed, was in stark contrast to the singer practically vibrating between her thighs. When no answer was given, Santana opened one eye just enough to look at Rachel, flustered and panting. "What do you want to do to me, Rachel?" she asked, purred.

"T-touch you," the girl forced out.

"But you already are," Santana teased, referencing the nails digging into her thighs.

" _Santana_ ," groaned Rachel.  _And god how did the tables turn like this?_  the smaller girl wondered to herself. How could Santana still be in so much control when she was the one practically naked and Rachel was supposed to be fingering  _her?_

Deciding that she had pushed Rachel enough - for now - Santana chuckled, slowly removing her fingers from herself and using them to beckon the girl forwards. Rachel's eyes were locked on the glistening wetness as she did so, mouth slightly parted, and gently Santana pressed the tips of her two fingers against Rachel's lips, raising an eyebrow.

To both their surprise, there was all of a second of hesitance before the singer's lips closed around the digits and sucked on them slowly.

 _God. Fucking. Damn_ , thought Santana. She worked her fingers inside Rachel's mouth slowly, before drawing them out and moving her hand back around Rachel's neck, gripping at the hair near the nape of her neck and tugging Rachel forward, less than an inch from Santana's own lips. "Make me cum, Rachel," Santana all but growled, nearly black eyes staring into Rachel's own wide, glazed over ones. "Show me how badly you want my cum  _all_  over your fingers."

Trembling, Rachel's head dipped. Her forehead pressed into Santana's, and, her tongue dipping out to swipe up the last taste of Santana lingering on her lip, she slid a hand up Santana's inner thigh, the other on Santana's knee taking most of her weight as her body shifted forward. Her eyes darted down only momentarily as her fingers hit silk, but they were quickly back up again, Rachel wanting to see the exact moment she touched Santana on the other girl's face. As her fingers stroked up the wet material to reach the waistband, Santana's eyes darkened even more, her facial muscles tightening.

Rachel bit her lip, inhaling sharply through her nose.  _That's Santana's… I can still taste it._

Santana's palm flexed behind her head, and Rachel took that as a nonverbal queue. Briefly sliding up the hot, soft skin of Santana's stomach, she rotated her wrist, straightening her fingers. An impulse had her moving up and forwards, pressing her mouth to Santana's as she wrapped her other arm around her, circling her shoulder, legs falling on either side of Santana's thigh before pushing her hand under Santana's panties.

The resulting guttural moan was hot in her mouth, Santana's head dropping back as she gasped in a deep breath; Rachel pressed her face into the side of her head, unable to stop her own involuntary noise as slick heat met the pads of her fingers, her middle and ring finger glancing against an already hard bundle of nerves. "O-oh," she sighed, heart fluttering in her chest as she slowly, gently rubbed up and down on either side of her clit, not daring to touch it directly yet, " _Mnnn_." Santana was so wet. Rachel had to stop herself from trapping her arm between their bodies, almost aching with the need to grind her own aching core against it.

Santana's fingernails abruptly burned into her naked lower back, the older girl's hand having shoved under her camisole. "Berry…" she hissed, thighs spreading under Rachel's body, a soft noise leaving her lips when she managed to dig her heels into her bed, pulling her hips forward just enough to tilt herself up; more wet heat and soft skin met Rachel's fingers as they slipped down, " _God…_  Feel what you do to me."

"Ahuh…" Rachel answered thickly, mouth slack and eyes clenched shut as she flexed her arm, shoulder tight, her hand trembling as she slowly, incrementally pushed further down.

"It's all you," Santana started again, throat vibrating against Rachel's. She was able to tell how each new word made the other girl gasp. In fact, she could practically  _feel_ the reaction on her pussy. It was like the world's slowest fingering, but Santana couldn't make herself care. Each new brush and slide was exciting as hell. She lifted her chin, nuzzling the side of Rachel's cheek. "You feel so good, Rachel. Yes, just like that…" She breathed into Rachel's ear, "My pussy's so fucking wet because of  _you_."

That made Rachel gasp, almost going limp. It also made her  _finally_  fully impact Santana's clit.

Santana moaned and jerked, her whole body tightening as she cupped the back of Rachel's head to pull her up, kissing her again. "Fuck,  _yes_ ," she hissed against her mouth, "God, mmm…" Her thighs shifted, knees coming into contact with Rachel's hips, her hand along Rachel's lower back pulling her closer into her. "Bet you have  _all_  the experience with playing with yourself, but this is different, isn't it?" Her hand moved from Rachel's head, fingers stroking through her hair and trailing down her arm, stopping just above where Rachel's hand disappeared into her panties.

A gentle nudge reminded Rachel that she could move, and she swallowed, exhaling and nodding, her hand almost shaking under Santana's strong fingers as she tried to, at first, translate what she did to herself onto Santana's wet, swollen folds, as well as follow the internet guides, only to stop with a jerk when Santana tapped her wrist, whispering a sharp, low, " _Thinking_."

Rachel huffed, frowning at Santana, who in turn moved forward enough to peck the girl on the lips. "Come here," she chuckled kindly, guiding Rachel closer and angling the girl for a deeper kiss. "Do you wanna know what's so  _great_  about your lack of experience, baby?" Santana whispered between kisses.

Sliding out of Santana's underwear, Rachel tried pulling back, but the two hands in her hair held her firm.

"Shhh… It's because…" Santana nipped her lower lip, smiling into another kiss. "... You don't have bad  _habits_. You can focus on learning just  _me."_

As the younger girl relaxed her shoulders again, Santana nuzzled their noses together, before drawing them into another slow kiss. "It's up to you," she went on, "How you want me."

Slowly, Santana began shifting them, keeping Rachel distracted and malleable with soft kisses and seductive words. "Maybe… laying down…?"

The singer's breath hitched.

Santana moaned and rolled her hips a little. "Mmm, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Me on my back… Taking your fingers…"

"Oh my God…" groaned Rachel, her breaths coming in stilted gasps.

Then Rachel felt the cheerleader move away, and when she opened her eyes, not even having realized they had fluttered shut, she looked down. She was over Santana, straddling a single thigh, with the Cheerio on her back and smirking gently up at her, hands sliding down Rachel's straightened arms. "O- oh… How did you…"

Santana winked. "That's my secret. Now…" Taking Rachel's hand, Santana slowly began guiding it down her twitching abs, back to the top of her panties. "I believe you were in the middle of something… Something about… getting  _knuckle deep_ in my hot… wet… pussy?"

The flush on Rachel's cheeks could have passed for sunburn, her browns eyes wide and entire body shivering. " _Santana_ ," she whimpered.

The Cheerio took pity, leaning up a little to kiss her cheek. "Come on, Rach..." she husked, breath hot against the shell of Rachel's ear. "Put your fingers where I need them.  _Feel_ how much I  _want you_."

Rachel did, situating herself slightly off to Santana's side and on her hip, slipping her fingers back under Santana's panties and, biting her lower lip, she couldn't hold back her own moan when two fingers easily slid between Santana's outer lips and grazed her clit.

" _Fuck yes_ ," moaned the cheerleader. "Good- Good.  _Yes,_ just like that, babe. Good girl.  _So_ good," she groaned in approval.

Rachel's hips jerked  _hard_ , her own covered center grinding down on Santana's strong thigh, and  _Jesus fuck_ , Santana realized,  _she's **drenched**_.  _Even through her shorts and underwear_!

In the back of her mind, Santana was the least surprised person in Lima that Rachel not only had a verbal kink, but also a  _praise_ kink. She also was now  _certain_ that if she wanted to, she could get the girl off with her voice alone.

But before she could start putting that into practice, Rachel's hand slipped further down, derailing her thoughts as pressure was suddenly  _exactly_  where she wanted it, the tips of the girl's fingers practically stroking along her entrance; Santana moaned, both hating and loving how her natural lubricant both made it so, so much better and so, so inexact as the other girl touched her.

And when Rachel's fingers  _finally_ pushed inside, slipping to the second knuckle easily, Santana gasped and rocked her hips up hard. " _Fuck…"_ She clenched, and it was Rachel's turn to gasp, her movements stuttering and thighs squeezing the cheerleader's even tighter.

"Santana-"

"Keep going," the older girl growled, her hands going to Rachel's hair and moving the brunette's head up, teeth nipping at Rachel's lower lip. "I'm soaked for you, Rachel," she husked. "And if you keep  _teasing me_ like this, I might actually  _explode_." A kiss, hard and heated, more teeth and tongue than anything. "So for the love of  _God_ start thrusting, and  _do not stop_ until I flip you over and make you ride my thigh."

By the time Santana was done speaking, still all growls and hot, gravelly words, Rachel herself felt like she might combust. She swallowed hard, buried her face against Santana's flushed neck, and obeyed.

It took a bit to find a rhythm, and a few awkward attempts at figuring out what to do with her other hand - using it as an anchor next to Santana's head won out, not to mention what was she supposed to do with her  _mouth?_ But finally, and with more than a little coaxing and verbal guidance, they fell into a steady back and forth, Santana's hips rolling into Rachel's thrusting fingers.

" _Fuck fuck fuck,_ " Santana still hand one hand tightly wound in Rachel's locks, the other clawing against the girl's camisole. Her thighs were tight around the girl's waist, teeth nipping and sucking at any bit of skin she could reach. It was making it nearly impossible for Rachel to focus, but it didn't seem to matter, because Santana started rocking up harder, gripping Rachel tighter and letting a slew of expletives ("God I can't wait to feel you on my fucking thigh,", "Fuck you're a fucking natural,") fall from her lips in between barely controlled bites.

Without any warning beyond Santana tightening her bodily hold even  _more_ , Rachel's fingers were halted, Santana's inner muscles contracting hard, milking the other girl's digits, and she let out a purely  _feral_ growl as she bit down, hard, into Rachel's shoulder over the strap of her camisole. Rachel whimpered and gasped, pushing her fingers as much as she could, trying to curl them, to do all the things she had read about on helping a woman ride out an orgasm even though her arm was getting sore and her wrist was definitely cramping.

It lasted several long seconds, every single one of them making Rachel feel hot and wet, her underwear ruined beyond saving and clothes suddenly feeling almost as constricting as Santana's arms and legs around her.

Then all the pressure relaxed, the Cheerio melting languidly into the mattress, teeth leaving their hold and nails dragging down Rachel's body to rest at Santana's side.

A slow, pleased smile worked its way across Santana's lips, and her eyes were dark and hooded. "Mmmmn…." she sighed, shuddering a little in aftershocks.

There was a beat, Rachel barely aware of the throb in her shoulder, and her arm, and-

"What did I tell you?"

Rachel blinked, coming back to herself and focusing on Santana's eyes. "W-what?"

The smile sharpened just a bit, and Rachel was suddenly reminded of where her fingers still were when the muscles clenched hard around them.

"I told you not to stop until I flipped you over, right?"

"I - Yes?"

Then her world was being turned up and over, her fingers very suddenly slipping out of the wet, pulsing heat, and Santana's thigh was  _right_ against her covered core. And just-  _how-?_

The smaller teen panted, staring breathlessly up at the girl she had just given an orgasm to, for the very first time in her own life. Her two fingers were drying already, but every other part of her felt overly heated, wet, and filled with a large dose of being incredibly turned on.

Santana leaned down, kissing her slowly, sneaking a hand around Rachel's right wrist and bringing the fingers up to her lips. She moved back just enough to make sure Rachel was looking at her clearly, then brought the girl's fingers up closer, and  _slowly_ licked her arousal from them.

Rachel felt like she died. She  _must_  have died. This wouldn't have been happening if she was alive.

"Mmm…" Santana husked, her tongue slowly pulling away from Rachel's fingers, slipping back into her mouth to get the full taste of it, "Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want that?" Leaning back down, she smiled, stopping with her plump lips only millimeters from Rachel's. She waited.

Rachel whimpered, then whimpered again when Santana's thigh flexed against her. How was Santana so effortlessly sexy? Hesitating only a second, she closed the gap, moaning as Santana's tongue pushed between her lips. The kiss tasted like Santana and…  _Santana_ , and Rachel's fingers still in Santana's grip curled.

Pulling back from the slow, languid kiss, Santana grinned down at her. "I might get a big head, what with the way you seem to like how I taste."

Rachel blushed. "...Santana…" she groaned, wanting to cover her face, "I may be able to  _do_  things, and while I know being able to discuss sexual things is an empowering, not shameful thing, I have to admit I'm not ready to talk about…  _That_."

Laughing, Santana nodded, dropping her head to give Rachel another, soft kiss. "We'll work on that mouth, yet," she winked, letting go of Rachel's wrist. As she did, she shifted atop Rachel, things moving  _just so_ , and suddenly Rachel realized Santana's naked breasts were still there. On her. Only thin fabric away from her own tingling skin.  _Oh goodness if I just look down, **they'll** be there! _And if she surreptitiously pulled her own camisole down… Or the movement Santana was making shifted things even more...

"Oh, I'm likin' that look on your face. Spill."

Realizing her eyes had been focused on Santana's forehead, her breathing having been speeding up as she tried to feel as much of Santana as she could without moving herself, her core on fire from the constant pressure, Rachel snapped her eyes back down. "Sp-spill?" Her voice was high.

Dark eyes twinkled at her. "Mm?" Santana raised her eyebrows. "All over my thigh?" She ground down.

Gasping, Rachel moaned, her hands coming up to grasp and scrabble at Santana's hips, fingers sliding along the silk and burning hot skin. Then, when Santana rolled her hips again, Rachel's hands slid up along her back and sides, her core squeezing from both the sensations against it and the feeling of the cheerleader's muscles moving under her skin. She was strong, stronger than she looked, and looking down at Rachel like she didn't want to be anywhere else, solid on top of her.

Rachel, who had been on edge since the beginning, could barely breathe, everything so hot and wet between her legs, her pulse pounding and throbbing with each thrust of Santana's thigh.

"Is that what you want, Sweetberry?' Santana husked into her ear, rubbing her cheek along Rachel's, arching up and grinding down into her, nuzzling Rachel when she gasped, throwing her head back. "For me to rub you off like this? Get so fucking wet that you soak my leg? Mmm, I  _love_  having you gasp under me like this."

Rachel's fingers were shaking as she dug them into Santana's naked back, her abs straining as she fought against humping up into the other girl. She wanted to. But in the way Santana was manipulating her body, having her feel what  _she_  wanted her to feel, she figured Santana would stop her. She gasped, almost cumming when Santana's teeth abruptly clamped down onto her shoulder.

"I can already feel you, you know," Santana husked, kissing the sting of her latest bite away, her hand coming up to cup, squeeze Rachel's breast, eliciting another breathy moan, "You're so wet that it practically splashes each time I…" She rocked forward, illustrating her words, "Thrust against you."

 _Thrust_. The moan Rachel let out was obscene, her core clenching, Santana's hand sliding down her body and pressing down, her fingers spreading on Rachel's belly harshly stopping her from humping up.

"Thrust?" Pushing up, looking down at Rachel, Santana smirked, a slow, long thing, Rachel crying out when she made another, lingering grind. "Mmm, you like that word.

"Don't you?" the cheerleader continued, rolling Rachel's nipple between her fingers, shifting onto her right forearm, her soaked core pressing into the rolled up waistband of Rachel's shorts. Leaning down, she sucked Rachel's lower lip into her mouth, chest pressing into Rachel's heaving sternum, Rachel keening into her mouth when Santana's thigh slid downwards, eliciting another gush and clench of her inner muscles. "Tell me, Rachel," she whispered, almost wild, her lips hard and smirking against Rachel's, dark eyes bright, "Tell me what about that word makes you so desperate, so…  _Reactive_."

Rachel whimpered. How could she say what that word invoked? Santana's lean, hard thigh… So devastating against her by itself. But superimposed with flashes of… Rachel moaned, her eyes flying open as strong fingers tweaked her erect nipple, rough and effective through her camisole. Heat followed the action, and she gasped, moaning again when Santana repeated the motion, using her thumb to soothe it as she waited for an answer.

"I…" Rachel had to swallow, another gasp leaving her throat when Santana rolled her palm, the smirk on her face showing she had no compunction about making it as difficult for Rachel to answer as she could.

"Is it because you're thinking about me thrusting  _inside_  you? Mmm, too bad we're not going to do that," Santana laughed, abruptly pulling away, both from her breast and between her legs, Rachel letting out a moan of loss before she could stop herself. Sitting up, and leaning over Rachel, Santana smiled down at her. Her breasts were proudly on display, and Rachel couldn't look away. She tried to move her gaze back up to the cheerleader's dimples... But it didn't work.

Santana looked at Rachel. The girl was panting, thick and fast, her hands sweating and scrabbling at her back, eyes so dark as her chest heaved; under her, her legs were trembling, splayed, and Santana could smell the scent of sex clinging heavily to her thigh. Seeing where the younger girl's eyes were focused, she smirked, her heart flipping in her chest. Rachel was beautiful. Needing, and hot, and so beautiful. Because of  _her_.

Rachel, finally, managed a few deep breaths, pulling Santana's lips down to her own, forcing her eyes to close. She focused on kissing the older girl, relieved that Santana seemed more than willing to comply with at least  _this_ , and tried to subtly shift herself in a way that let her start grinding on the cheerleader's thigh again.

The distraction worked for all of a few blissful seconds, but the moment Rachel managed to get just the barest hint of friction, Santana moved back, lifting herself up, grinning down at the desperate singer under her.

Rachel groaned, " _Santana_ ,  ** _please!_** "

"It is so, so sexy when you start begging…" teased the other girl, her grin shifting to a small smirk.

 _"Santana!_ "

"Fine! Fine," Santana laughed, dropping her weight more firmly to Rachel's body, pressing her thigh hard between her legs and leaning in without warning to nip at the apex between Rachel's neck and shoulders.

The suddenness had Rachel jerking and gasping, her hands trying to find purchase on the cheerleader's bare back and her legs spreading wider, hips canting up for more.

Santana rocked forward. "So… What about me…  _Thrusting_ … Into you do you like?"

Rachel could have died. She had thought,  _hoped_ , Santana had decided to drop it. Then, another  _firm_  press against her core, made her actually  _squeak_. "C-can we just- Santana I swear to God-  _Ooh_!"

Santana hummed against Rachel's salty skin, nipping again, then soothed the quickly forming bruise with her tongue before moving to another patch of exposed skin to do the same. She began rolling her hips more, keeping the friction near constant against Rachel's soaked, covered center, but refused to let the subject die. "You know," she started, her own breaths becoming shallow pants as she felt - physically  _felt-_ how worked over Rachel was getting, "I have a few…  _toys_ you might like."

"Oh God!"

"You want that, don't you Rachel? Feeling me  _in_ you,  _thrusting_  like this?"

She bit a little harder, sucking at the skin and shuddering as nails scratched down her spine. Her bare thigh was damp with the singer's arousal, and the room was filled with the girl's moaning and panting. When Santana leaned up, she was met with glossy eyes and trembling lips, a forehead glistening with sweat and muscles twitching. She had teased enough, she supposed. As hot as it was - and God was it hot- to keep Rachel teetering on the edge like this, she could still remember in detail how she looked when she came.

And she wanted to see it again.

"Do you trust me?" she whispered, shifting so she was a hair's breadth from Rachel's ear as she spoke.

The shorter girl nodded vehemently, eyes wide and chest heaving.

"Good… Turn around."

"W-what?"

Santana moved back, setting her hands on Rachel's hips and encouraging her to turn over. "Turn over."

"S-Santana, I don't think… I don't think I can handle more teasing."

The Cheerio chuckled, tugging on Rachel's hips again. "I know. S'why I'm about to get you off. But you have to  _turn over_."

Rachel did so, shakily, hands grasping the sheets. She shivered as Santana once again settled over her, the girl's hands flat on either side of Rachel's ribcage and her thigh pressing back between her legs.  _Oh my God_ , Rachel thought, eyes slamming shut as her inner muscles clenched  _hard_ with the realization of what Santana meant to do.

She felt hot breath on her cheek.

"Mmm… Yeah, you got the idea… Now use your imagination, baby… M'about to ride you…"

With no other warning, Santana pushed her knee against Rachel's core, grinding down. She canted back, then down again, over and over, setting a hard, relentless pace. Beneath her Rachel squirmed and moaned, her own hips pushing back and trying to keep up with Santana's rhythm. Her mind was a flurry of images, sensations. Santana above her,  _surrounding her_ , knee hitting her clit almost perfectly every single time over her utterly ruined shorts and panties. Heat was coiling in the pit of her stomach, unbearably so. She was so  _close._ If she could just- just  _something-_

Teeth met skin as Santana bit down and pressed hard; she forced Rachel's body firmly against the bed, and Rachel swore that she  _growled_.

The singer was coming undone almost before she could even realize what was happening. Screaming, practically sobbing as her whole body seized up, she jerked, and jerked again as Santana's knee moved, the older girl continuing to rub her as she kept her weight on Rachel, keeping her down. Everything was squeezing and gushing, Santana panting over her, her husky whispers somehow cutting through the blood rushing through Rachel's ears, murmuring accolades and praises even as she urged Rachel to cum, again, and with every word Rachel shook, cumming harder. It was like everything broke inside her, all the tension and passion, and it burned and roared and coiled and rubbed and Santana's mouth was hot and sharp against her neck again and she shook and shook and shook and - -

Groggily, Rachel felt herself moving, being picked up and turned over, warm skin under her ear as Santana half-cradled her, her hands brushing Rachel's sweat-stained bangs from her forehead. Santana's heart was loud in her rib cage, and Rachel exhaled, feeling so weak and noodly, sparks of residual pleasure washing through her as her legs shifted, absolutely sticky and wet.

"You're back," Santana whispered, sounding so proud and affectionate, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

"...What?" Rachel managed, sighing and swallowing, her mouth having been full of so much saliva.

A low chuckle vibrated under her ear. "Guess you got too stimulated," Santana answered, reaching behind them to find a pillow, easing it under Rachel's head. "I was a bit mean, pullin' out the big positions, but you were a good girl." Gentle fingers stroked along Rachel's bare upper arm, "You deserved it."

Rachel mumbled something sleepily, feeling so wonderfully sated. Santana had made her feel so, so good. It was almost magic.

Santana's arm settled over her body, lean hips moving in close to nestle against Rachel's ass, and Santana brushed her lips along the crown of Rachel's head. "Prolly time to get some sleep, Berrylicious."

"Mmhm, okay…" Rachel nodded, somehow finding Santana's hand and clumsily lacing their fingers together, over her hip, "Thank… Thank you. And… And San…?"

Shifting behind her, Santana made a wordless sound of acknowledgment.

Rachel yawned, smiling. "Before… Before you think… That wasn't too much."

There was a pause, and then Santana squeezed their laced hands. "Yeah?" she asked, her voice thick and a little relieved, Rachel only barely catching it.

Nodding, her eyes having already been long closed, Rachel relaxed into Santana's warm, near-naked body, let out another residual satisfied noise, and sank into the sleep dragging down her heavy, after-glow infused bones.


End file.
